


Last Opportunity

by narukyuu



Series: Last Opportunity [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (but not really...), BAMF Rhodey, Betrayal, Character Death, Dark!Steve, Disturbing Themes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual recovery, Gaslighting, Hurt Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Maybe - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Avengers, Protective Rhodey, Rape/Non-con Elements, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Unrequited Lust, delusional!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 69,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7659367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narukyuu/pseuds/narukyuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being majorly injured in battle and separated from his team, Tony resigns to his fate and waits patiently to die. However, one of his teammates will not let him go without a proper send off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welp.  
> It's been a while since I wrote anything, so of course I chose the most deranged prompt I could find for my first fic in ages.
> 
> Prompt from AvengersKink on livejournal as follows:  
> "A male Avenger has been near-fatally injured after an epic battle and is all alone, presumably with his communication smashed or what have you. This prompts another male character to fulfill a secret predatory desire of his. Before help can come he rapes the injured character and, unable to fight back, the injured character dies of his injuries during the attack.
> 
> His attacker doesn't seem to notice or care and keeps going.
> 
> This is obviously ending in major character death unless you can make a scenario where the attacker finishes up and runs away all in time for help to come and resuscitation efforts to work.
> 
> ++The attacker telling the victim to calm down and be quiet because he is "helping"/any other creepy false comfort and reassurances"

The struggle was almost over.

It had been a long one, disastrous in all ways. Most of the participants were laying incapacitated on the ground while others fought above them, surrounded by the ruins of what once was Times Square… now reduced to rubble of concrete, steel and broken glass.

It was almost over, soon one side will prevail and drive the other to his knees and hopefully - it'd be the right side. In the meantime, they had to continue fighting. No matter how many of them fell, or how hopeless it seemed…

Tony stark was not going to survive this fight.

His suit was in pieces - broken, completely shattered under the enormous weight of rubble, covered in gore, blood and dust, moreover, some of the parts left of the broken metal suit jammed themselves into his skin and flesh along shards of dirty glass.

He did what he could, took out as many of the enemies as was possible by his weapons, created deadly flaws in the defenses of the opposing force that could get the team their eventual victory just moments before his suit was crushed and flung away into the midsection of a building, consequently causing it to come down around and on top of him. Effectively burying him alive in an early grave.

A hero's death. Tony would have laughed had his lungs felt up to it, but those were deflated, probably collapsed. His breath's felt shallow, not at all providing oxygen or anything other than heavy dust particles in his needy body. Pathetic, broken. Another attempted breath was rejected, and the familiar panic crept up his spine as his vision darkened. A hero's death. He couldn't even know if that was really it, or if he was going to be just another included in the collateral damage of a successful invasion. Anonymous, stripped of his identities and life right along all the others.

Neither seemed too bad, it didn't really matter now did it? Dead is dead, after all.

Numbly Tony waited, not very sure how death felt, if the pain would just suddenly stop or continue indefinitely, if his mind would just stop… how would he know? How would he even feel? He just waited. Counted the seconds. He knew it'd be soon, not-breathing was so hard and so loud in the silence of his constricted concrete and steel grave, air wheezing sharply around him. A maddening sound, he wished he couldn't hear it anymore.

Better than hearing screams and explosions and death all around him, probably. He wasn't quite sure. It was too quiet now, the wheezing sound weakened…

"Iron man…? Oh… oh god. Tony?" Who? The words rang in his ears, incomprehensible. A loud clang of metal hitting metal caused him to jolt.

A weight was lifted from his chest, then air assaulted his lungs. Too much, it caused him to cough and splutter when blood flooded his mouth and throat and it was worse than getting no air at all because now he was drowning in his own blood, but it didn't matter because he was going to die anyway so why was the sensation of drowning so much worse than simply not breathing? Why was it such torture when before he felt so _numb?_  

"Hell… this is…" the voice was shaken, still echo-y. Tony heard the words, but couldn't quite process what was said. It was like listening to someone talk from under water, broken up, slurred words. _Stark, Jericho, weapons…_ "… Tony? You have to stick with me, don't fall asleep, you can't fall asleep. I will help you. Stay awake." _So tired… if he agreed to make the weapons, would the pain stop?_ Could he get to sleep then?

A gentle, warm touch was then on his head tilting it to the side as his body was pushed into the same direction as well, a light pat prompting him to let go of the liquid in his mouth onto the dirty floor, and throw up the rest just a moment later. He coughed and blinked the heavy darkness away from his eyes, taking in the foul smell of blood, sweat and fluids, all suddenly clearer. Above him, Steve knelt and he cradled Tony's head in his arms, murmuring his name and numerous curse words as well. Distantly, the notion of the Captain swearing seemed to have held some kind of a meaning, it was something Tony knew he should be amused by, perhaps mocking the young blond for his old man's ways. Only…

Well, death kinda took the humor out of this, at present.

"It's not fair, Tony. You can't die yet. You just can't. Do you hear me? Stay awake." Steve's hand was so warm against his head, it was nice, the sensation of his long, firm fingers running through mats of bloodied hair was comforting, it wasn't a bad feeling to experience before dying. If only he'd shut up and let him rest now… "help is coming, you hear? They're coming. Come on…!" The hand left Tony's hair and shot to the Captain's ear, from which he pulled an earpiece with a frustrated shout, making Tony jolt back to awareness.

"Technology never works when you need it." Steve didn't meet Tony's flustered stare when the dying man strained to find his blue eyes, wanting to find hope and reassurance in them that Steve was telling him the truth, that someone really was coming - they'd won and help was coming and he will get help before his chest rebels against the concept of hosting air within its vicinity, before he bleeds too much for his body to still be salvaged, before tiredness overwhelms him and it's over… he didn't really believe, but if Steve did… then he could find it possible to let a spark of hopefulness remain lit.

When Steve did look at him again, mere seconds later - his eyes were hard and cold like ice, his jaw set the way it usually did when they argued over their many disagreements. Tony became hyperaware of the sound of the soldier grinding his teeth, then sighing exerted and tired. One of his hands was at the base of Tony's head now, caressing softly at his cold, rigid skin. Tony hummed appreciatively at the touch of leather gloves, gaining a hesitant look from the man accompanying him besides his concrete deathbed.

"D-Don't look… so sad…" Tony coughed, once again feeling blood mixing with the saliva in his mouth, he spat it out before attempting more words. "C-capcsicle… it's ok. The p-puppy eyes won't…" His vision swam so he must be close again… soon - it'd be over soon. "T-the C-comms are down, eh? You… you should g-go and find help, I c-can wait here..." Steve didn't have to be there when he was finally gone, he shouldn't be there… it was fine.

The cold look was back in Steve's eyes, the set of his jaw turning firmer and sudden force in his grip over the back of Tony's head. The pain of his firm hold was not as horrible as the rest of the aches all across Tony's body, however it was distinctive - it's warmth and insistence and the texture of the glove striking against his skin, all resulting in a choked gasp leaving Tony's throat. The sudden shift of strength, sending a wave of panic down his spine.

"I didn't want this to happen this way." The growl of Steve's voice caused a jolt in Tony's rigid body, even if he couldn’t quite comprehend what it was that Steve said… the tone of it was cold and hot and terrifying and all at the same time, suddenly his hands on Tony's body turned rougher in their brushes against his bruised skin, pulling away at scorched and torn pieces of what remained of his under-suit. "I thought there would be time, Tony. I thought I'd be able to woo you before I did this, that there will always be a better time…" the strain in his words was obvious even to a dying man's unfocused mind, but it was not wavering or shaky at all. The words were scrambled, the determination and meaning behind them were not.

 "St-Steve…" the name eventually rolled out on his numb tongue, though choked and barely audible made the Captain freeze for a moment and meet Tony's eyes. Bloodshot and blown up so desperate for reassurance, for Captain America to help him – tell him it was going to be alright… and let him die. Let him rest.

Steve looked at him for the longest time. It was… disheartening. The sight of Tony Stark, the Iron Man helmet torn to reveal his bruised face and the rest of the suit, no, the rest of the death trap the man had cocooned himself within crushed and broken and tearing into his flesh. Reminders of the genius barely visible under blood and filth. So many of his bones must have fractured in the crash so… even if help did come, even if someone could get all the rubble out of the way and even if there was a functioning hospital still standing… what good would any of that do? What could even remain of Tony, after this was done?

It wasn't how Steve wanted for this to happen. Not really.

He dreamed, sometimes. When nightmares of war and loss and ice let him have a brief respite, what Tony would look like when the inevitable finally happened and they both admitted their attraction. He dreamed of angry, violent sex fueled by fights and disagreements over the most stupid things, infuriating Genius billionaire grinning at him as he slammed in, moaning and pulling on his hair when they kissed. Steve found those dreams scary at first, wondering why his fantasies were not focused around more gentle interactions – the way Tony could make him laugh, his enthusiasm as he talked about technology and science and space and the future in words Steve would never truly understand, his idealism hidden under a mask of realism which he allowed nearly no one to witness. But as days went by and the Avengers grew closer as a group, the dreams became an enticing desire for such a reality to even be a possibility.

Now he would never get either of his fantasies. Now Steve was looking of whatever remained of Tony Stark and found it wanting. Nothing could salvage it. Nobody could give him back the Tony stark he dreamed about. He missed that opportunity. Even if help could get there fast enough to keep him alive… it would no longer be the same.

But then Tony said his name again, and he was straining his neck to find Steve's gaze, and the spark of brilliance was still there. It wasn't lost yet. Tony was not dead yet. He could still have him, for the first and last time. Steve never got to say goodbye to the people he lost. He was never able to get closure with Bucky, and Peggy, the Howling Commandos…or Howard… with Tony he still had that option. He could make their final moments together meaningful

Awful as he knew the desire to act on his dreams actually was, Steve nonetheless worked his hands to remove dented plates of armor that constricted his access to what he wanted, throwing them aside and ignoring the way tony winced at the sound of metals ringing against one another. The man breathed in a shallow snuffle and his lips moved without making a sound, he didn't seem to comprehend the situation yet, Steve wasn't sure if he'd be able to anymore.

It didn't really matter though. Steve's hands moved across the now bare body under him, not holding back his strength to manhandle Tony into a more approachable position – leaning against a piece of concrete with his head upright, cloudy eyes looking but not seeing Steve right before him, lips murmuring inaudible, incomprehensible things. Gashes across the flesh of his thighs leaked blood down his legs still at a slow, constant pace, turning his skin red and sticky. Steve stopped for a moment when his eyes spotted one of the deeper cuts. He knew what he was doing was not doing any good to any of those wounds, that he was making any chance of a recovery drop to the negative numbers by not performing any first aid routines. As it were, he was probably making the situation much worse.

Tony hissed in pain when Steve pressed a piece of the fabric that had once been his under-suit against the worst wound, applying pressure to it to weaken the bleeding. Maybe if he could save him this would not be necessary, they could go back to normal, rebuild the team, the city, start an actual relationship. Maybe it could work after all.

Too bad, the bleeding did not weaken much, and other wounds all over Tony's body demanded just as much attention as Steve was giving the cut on his thigh and it was impossible- he winced when Tony gasped in pain again – his only option was to take advantage of his last opportunity, hope he could make it good enough to make Tony's departure less painful.

"Sh, sh…" he murmured as he leaned over Tony, his hands moving across the blemished skin covering the now nearly naked Avenger's torso, moving down, trying to get a feeling of every piece of Tony, memorize the way his soft belly felt under his fingers, and the little sounds that were made as one hand sunk lower to touch what it was never allowed before. "Help is coming… I'm helping. Okay, Tony? That's okay with you right?" a single stroke made Tony's head shoot back into the wall behind him – albeit with no great force, and gasp for air when a second one came soon after. Tony was murmuring things again, his eyes were unable to focus as he thrashed his head from side to side, hurting himself, writhing under Steve's touch. 

"Sh… baby, it’s okay… I will help you, make you feel good." Another stroke made Tony freeze, a pitiful sound leaving his throat when Steve mouthed at it, harshly sucking and bruising the skin further. He tasted salty with sweat and blood, and smelled so too, with an addition of another stink Steve couldn't quite place. He imagined he smelled of grease and aftershave, like he thought it must have been like in his dreams… it made everything more bearable if he could picture brown eyes looking at him with laughter instead of crippling pain in them, a hand moving to rest on his back instead of laying crushed and mangled, never to hold another power-tool again. It made it all bearable, a more desirable situation to be in.

Once he was in the right mind-set it became easier to just go along with it, ignore the small pained sounds Tony made and pretend they're sounds of pleasure, a proof of him wanting this as well. he pushed against the body under him and then lifted Tony's thighs, pulling them to circle his waist and kissed the lax throat of the body under him again as his fingers fondled and squeezed at the man's balls. A moment when he wondered if he'd be able to arouse his friend in such a state caused him slight anguish until he felt the limp cock firming under his fingers, although slowly. It was all the confirmation he needed to go ahead with this, the knowledge that Tony wanted this too, found what was happening good, too.

Tony was shaking. He wasn't very cold – he thought, heat was actually gathering in the area of his lower stomach and groin where Steve's now gloveless hands made short waves of warmth spread from wherever they touched, consequently prompting Tony's helpless body to writhe in desperation under them. It was wrong, he didn't want this… he couldn't understand _why_. His thoughts struggling to turn clear for long enough to even grasp the significance of the places where Steve was stroking both his arms and his lips – his tongue – on his body, or interpret the appearance of Steve's face as hungry, or was it horny, actually? Perhaps both.

Tony tried slurring words of rejection, tried questioning Steve's actions but the words were stuck in his aching throat, what did come out sounded more like gasps and gargles. He felt something – fingers- crawling down the crack of his ass – slightly cool with slick – probably spit or blood? and oh, that was disgusting. Tony couldn't imagine anything worst right at that moment, but he was proved wrong promptly when everything went directly to hell.

Tony screamed, well, he tried. And as a result his chest convulsed in a fit of painful coughs and snorts, but that was nothing compared to what the intrusion of his body felt like. His whole body felt as if on fire, as clichéd as that is. A body this broken shouldn't be used like that was what he wanted to tell Steve, only he couldn't speak now. His mind all but shut down all motor functions, he could do nothing but feel pain coming out from every atom making his body. He wished the numbness came back…

Steve wanted to do this for so long. He took in the sight of Tony writhing, gasping in his hands, moaning when he added a finger to the effort of stretching him enough. He didn't have lube on him, obviously, so he used spit hoping it's be enough for scissoring and expanding the elasticity of Tony's entrance. He leaned to kiss Tony's forehead, murmured an apology and a plead for tony to be patient, a promise that soon everything would be better, they would feel so good soon. Steve knew he was helping Tony right now, distracting him from the other pains plaguing his body with a bit of pleasure. Tony deserved that, at least. 

As he deemed his work close to a finish, Steve allowed himself to release his own cock from his uniform pants. Becoming hard while looking at the heap of flesh that once was Tony Stark was not an easy task, so he once again let his artist's imagination take control, paint a picture of the elegant inventor with always neat facial hair, a somewhat condescending smirk adorning his kissable lips and his big brown eyes half closed with lust and adoration. He groaned as that image fueled both the strokes he gave himself and the thrusts of his fingers into Tony's body, he let himself imagine the little gasps and broken moans rolling out of his throat were ones of pleasure, that he'd sound exactly like this if they were in his own bed right now instead of under a collapsed building.

Tony whimpered softly when Steve finally pulled away his fingers, there was a slight pink tinge on them, and Steve thought that might be telling of internal bleeding from the man's crash. Then he noticed the tears running down his team-mate's face. "Oh, baby… Tony…" he let his hand brush against Tony's bruised cheek, wiping away the blood and tears as he leaned in, he knew kissing Tony while the man could barely breath was really not such a good idea if he hoped to still be able to save him… but he… didn't, actually. He wanted to, wished he could ignore the sight right in front of his eyes and believe that it was salvageable. Tony used to joke that Steve was a helpless optimist, that he'd believe in a good ending and a better way no matter how grim the odds actually were – but that was false. Steve couldn't see a future where he could get his Tony back the way he was before. The thought made him freeze for a mere second before he joined his lips with Tony's. He wished the man he was kissing would not survive, that he would die.

As his tongue invaded the gap of Tony's mouth Steve moved his hands softly down his sides, feeling cracked, broken ribs under torn skin and flesh, smelling the burnt stink about it as his fingers pressed down on what should have been a soft and plump ass but turned out to be stiff now. It was disappointing, contradicting the image he created for himself. Tony was so far gone now… if Steve wanted to make it before he was completely gone he'd have to hurry. He kept on kissing Tony as one of his hand aligned his cock with the little stretched ring of muscle, palming his length until a slow and steady drip of pre-cum started, and as far as Steve was concerned that was supposed to satisfy the need for lubrication.

He swallowed the small gasp Tony made into his mouth, silencing it and another one Tony attempted right after that, he was drinking down the little moans, tasting the salt of tears on his lips and continued, slow at first – the cum not enough to make the passage into Tony's body easier, it was uncomfortably hot and tight in there for the first few minutes, the body under him stiff with the stress and fear of its last moments.

It was infuriating enough for Steve to break the kiss – and when he did Tony gasped again, a rasped groan leaving his throat as he attempted to bring in air with little success. Steve closed his eyes, imagined Tony – _his Tony_ – moaning and giggling under him as he pushed in, too big to go all at once, an inch by inch turning his lover into a heap of lustful mess. Tony moaned and gasped beneath him, his breath rate too fast and short to be of any actual help to his damaged lungs. Then suddenly he whimpered loudly under him. His eyes blowing wider and filling with yet more tears. Steve made further effort to push inside him now, groaning when Tony clenched around him. "Yes, love… you are so good." He attempted to reassure him when Tony made another desperate sound, "So well… you are doing so well, you know that? Feels so good…" the gasps and whimpers continued and accelerated as Steve picked up the pace, burying himself as deep as he could before pulling put and then repeating once again. "Ssh, sweetheart…" he murmured and brushed his lips against Tony's forehead when a gasp came to close to being a scream, disrupting his fantasy. "Be good. I'm trying to help, ok? Just trying to help."

The body around him relaxed a bit, so Steve allowed himself then to slip back into his fantasy. His hands exploring the chest of his lover, teasing, twisting and then sucking on one of the nipples as his other hand once again made its way to the half limp cock his passionate thrusts didn't seem to quite rouse yet, he palmed and squeezed at it lightly before his thumb began teasing it a little as well, massaging the tip, running up and down its length in an increasing pace trying to bring pleasure through that sort of action as well as the fucking of the hot, tight hole, where he knew he was hitting the spot needed to send jolts of pleasure up his lover's spine, even if said man could not express his gratitude at the moment.

As he continued his ministrations on the limp body under him Tony's voice turned less audible, his gasps less frequent and throatier as well as shallow, Steve took it as a sign of relaxation, not opening his eyes or slowing down his now almost brutal pace, he groaned into the flesh of his partner's throat, nibbling on it as his buildup became nearly unbearable, moaning as he searched for lips to kiss to share his moment of pleasure with Tony.

When Steve let go and got up Tony's breath had already diminished, his eyes closed and body limp. Nothing remaining of the inventor but a husk of a body. He was dead, and the only thing reducing the pain that stabbed through Steve's heart was the knowledge that he, at the very least, managed to share one last experience with him, and perhaps made it all less painful for him.

 

 


	2. Not Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a Dick.  
> The rest of the team cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out to be a multi chaptered fic. I didn't plan on that.
> 
> There's some medical lingo I probably got wrong, I tried fixing some of the mistakes I made in the first chapter regarding anatomy and other stuff, please use suspended belief sparingly.

Steve stood up, not looking back at the limp heap of flesh that bore a semblance to the Genius, Billionaire… Hero he loved, he tucked himself back into his uniform and wiped beads of sweat from his brow before picking up the shield that represented Captain America, made by the father of the corpse he was leaving behind, to be found by rescue teams or scavengers, whoever got there first... No—no. Tony deserved at the very least a proper burial, a hero's funeral. Steve could not let his sense of loss affect his ideals like that. He picked up the busted earpiece and put it in his ear, whatever was blocking the signal before was gone now, and he was able to transfer Barton a message with the coordinates of his and Tony's location.

He sat on the ground next to the opening in the rubble the crashed building, leaning against his shield and wiped tears from his eyes when they found him. He told them Tony was dead – and they didn't believe him. He understood, of course he did, how accepting such a thing was an impossibility to anyone who knew Tony. The man sure liked to act as if he was immortal, rush in and jump ahead to face dangers that were not his to face, just like he did during the battle that caused his death.

"No- Steve, he IS alive." Bruce was coming out of the building, a rescue team carrying a stretcher behind him, many people were crowding it so Steve and the others could not see the body lying on it or what was happening to it clearly. Steve stared at Bruce for a long moment, incredulous. He knew for a fact that Tony was no longer alive when he left his body inside, he _checked_. The man was no longer breathing, his pulse was--

Bruce noticed his predicament and put a steady hand on his bicep, smiling reassuringly.  "Barely breathing… a crushed windpipe perhaps due to the heavy mass of debris you cleared away, his lungs took a beating but thankfully did not puncture or collapse. We had to hook him up with some help so he could breathe again. In addition, he was bleeding himself dry…  There's going to have to be a long recovery period after surgeries are done," he paused, looked at Steve and smiled a little, "Tony is lucky you found him when you did, Cap."

Steve stood stunned for a moment, looking at Bruce, then at the rest of the team who became joyous at the news. Joyous. How could they? He jolted when Barton clapped his shoulder and grinned widely at him, prompting him to give back a small smile. They didn't know. They didn't know that what remained of Tony Stark died, even if his body survived. Steve knew the truth – Tony would never be the same. All the surgeries in the world couldn't fix a body that broken, a soul that tired. They didn't know.

A vehicle took Tony's body away accompanied by Bruce alone. The Avengers still had work to be done.

After a sleepless night of rescue and cleanup duty, the team - minus Tony and Natasha, who was indisposed as well, was debriefed on the events of the previous day, at the end of which Bruce got up to update them on their teammate's health.

Natasha had a broken arm and a few cracked ribs, she was already up and terrorizing the orderlies and nurses with demands to be let go. Tony was in an induced coma and suffered a cracked skull, several fractures in his arms - wrists, fingers, a dislocated shoulder… one of the hands demanded a reconstruction surgery if they hoped to ever have it work again. He had multiple deep slashes all over his body, some metal lodged itself in his thigh and was removed during the night by several surgeons, who by the end of it determined he could keep all of his limbs intact. A long time with limited breathing capacity had worried the doctors that Tony might have sustained heart and brain damage, they were testing for it, but until Tony woke up there was really no way to determine how much any of that affected him.

"Finally, I have some… worrying news." Bruce whispered. "Usually I would wait for Tony's consent to reveal those findings, but right now this could be the most vital damage to his person, and he will need our support to move past it." The man breathed in, then out. Steve must have imagined the slight green tint of his eyes and skin. "It seems that Tony was… assaulted, when he became indisposed. Sexually, violently." He breathed out again. "I am not going to repeat the details of that to you, was bad enough reading about it in the report myself without his consent for it, I feel very uncomfortable revealing it to you, but I also know he is going to need support, and Tony… he won't ask on his own."

The group remained quiet, the most visibly disturbed by the news was War Machine, who immediately stood up and left the room, the metal boots of his suit clanking loudly in the silence stricken room. The rest sat quietly, their heads turned down. Sam was looking at Steve with worried eyes – out of all of them, he might have been closer to understanding how Steve felt about Tony and was searching his face for a reaction. The stone-faced glare was all he got back.

Steve turned to look at Bruce with a raised eyebrow. "Do we at least know how… who? Was there… was there a rape kit? Did they get anything?" He asked patiently, searching Bruce's eyes for clues to the answer. Not that he'd care if they accused him. What happened was not rape, it was not assault. It definitely wasn't violent – he wasn't trying to hurt Tony, not any more than he'd already been hurt. Steve loved him, after all.

"We think it might have been one of the hostiles, maybe trying to… lower our moral by despoiling our wounded and dead. Especially one of earth's defenders." Bruce seemed wrung out, "I'm sorry. The past night had been… can we move on to the next topic now? Or are we done? I'd like to go check on Nat before she storms out of the infirmary on her own again." Everyone in the room nodded, Sam murmured something to himself about going to the clinic to pick up some pamphlets and asked Steve if he'd like to join, something about the tone of his voice seemed to indicate that he wanted to talk about it.

Steve didn't feel up to it, he looked up at his friend's face and smiled weakly, apologizing. "I just… I need to stay around here for, well, you know. There's still a lot of paperwork to fill." Sam nodded, he probably knew Steve would be worried about Tony, but the real reason still eluded him.

"Okay, I'll come back later." Steve smiled again when Sam clapped an affirming hand on his shoulder and gave him the trademarked 'Encouragement look', assuring him in whatever step or decision he wanted to take.

 

A large bit damaged yet functional War Machine armor stood in sentinel mode next to where Tony's bed would've been had he been there but was now an empty spot. It's empty and emotionless eyes surveying the room and scanning everyone who entered. Natasha, who sat on the bed on the other side of the room, looked at it warily.

She was there the day before, when Bruce and the other doctors rushed Stark inside, saw them as they hooked him up with tubes and needles and an obscene amount of painkillers as well, probably. They pulled a curtain around his bed and talked in hushed whispers, but Bruce should have known that it wouldn't really matter with her in the room, she was a bit disappointed in him, to be honest.

After hearing what they had to say, she never regretted having good ears and greater spy skills more.

Then they took him for tests and surgeries, and he wasn't back since the night before. She didn't get any answers from the nurses or from any of the doctors, and Bruce was presumably by Tony's side still, so he didn't come back either. She was just about ready to leave the infirmary to go demand answers about Stark's condition when Rhodes came in, still completely encased in his suit, only his helmet dispositioned, and looked around. Eyes lingering on Natasha but a moment before he stepped toward the vacant spot and stepped out of the suit, his face grim and wounded. Even with his height diminished out of the large metal suit, Rhodes stature of an experienced soldier was conveying a threatening vibe, like a lion ready to strike down anyone who would dare open their mouth around him or step too close.

"Where is Tony?" he asked, his head bowed and his hands clenched to the point of digging holes in his own palms, Natasha could only guess Bruce had revealed what she heard discussed herself the day before to the rest of the team, and a small part of her was mad on Tony's behalf, even if she knew Bruce did it for what he deemed a good reason.

She got up from her own bed and walked to her teammate. Rhodes… he was an Avenger, was part of the team, a valuable part with extensive strategical knowledge, years of training and field experience. He was an Avenger, but before that he was Tony's friend – his _best_ friend. She had no doubt that despite his stony expression and steady stance, James Rhodes at that moment had rage coursing through his veins instead of blood. She put her hand on his tense shoulder and swallowed down the words of encouragement she had almost spewed automatically to get the uncomfortable feelings out of the way. Rhodes needed answers, not pity and empty condolences.

"He was taken for surgery yesterday; they have not brought him back here since." She said quietly, "I was about to go to the nurse station to have them call a doctor with answers when you came in."

The man seemed to have relaxed a bit, at least his nails no longer bit crescents into his palm anymore. He didn't look at her as he set the suit to sentinel mode, nodded to himself approvingly and left the room. Natasha could hear him demanding the location of the room where Tony's surgeries were performed, she felt bad for the nurse.

And so she remained, watching the armor make micro movements each time someone passed by the door, it's blank eyes glowing red and its weapons at the ready, somehow it was comforting – knowing something was there to watch her back, even if it was not there for her at all. The fatigue of the last few days caught up with her, and she returned to her bed, soon lulled to sleep by the whirring of metal limbs on the other side of the room.

 

Tony woke up. He saw a blinding light and knew he was dead.

 

 "Tony?" Bruce rushed to his friend's—patient, bedside at the machines indicative sound of heart rate accelerating and blood pressure climbing. The anesthesia they used during the surgeries to fix the man's tracheal rupture and extract the bits of metal and glass from where these lodged in his flesh was wearing off, and as those procedures took care of the worst injuries, Bruce decided keeping the man essentially comatose for much longer would hinder any further examination of his condition and necessary treatment.

Also, he really wanted to make sure his friend was still there. That he was… okay.

At the moment, Tony's vital signs were going crazy; the man was trying to breath normally where his body was currently getting its oxygen from a chest tube, and he was definitely panicking. Bruce vaguely remembered Tony making an offhanded comment about third-rate anesthesia wearing off too early to expose him to the horrors of open heart surgery in a cave in Afghanistan. Bruce thought he was joking, back then. Now he wondered how he could ever consider anything coming out of Tony Stark's mouth a joke. The man has been so brutally honest, always coming on too strong… too strong for some people. Not for Bruce. He adored it, he found it amusing, even when the self-deprecation was so evident in the genius' words.

If the need to stay able to give his friend proper treatment hadn't reined him in, Bruce would have hulked out and destroyed what was left of Manhattan out of sheer contempt against his own ignorance.

He injected Tony with a low dose of Valium and then increased the dose of the pain-killers to help his friend relax. Tony was sweating and his dilated pupils were blindly focused on the ceiling for several more seconds before his body slumped, the tension leaving it somewhat. Bruce didn't attempt making conversation, as much as he wanted to check for his friend's well-being, letting his patient rest until he was in a position to recognize where he was and what was actually happening was a higher priority. Bruce hoped the valium would be enough to let him sleep peacefully, with no bad dreams to plague him.

He knew such a wish was moot.

 

Tony was losing consciousness, he saw darkness and was pretty sure he was currently burning in the infernos of Hell.

 

Tony was returned to his and Natasha's room the same night, Bruce managed to convince her to stay for further supervision, partly by reminding her she could stay and watch Tony past visiting hours that way. The Black Widow was not the only one on the team who could so easily manipulate people. She seemed to have realized it the moment Clint smirked at her with one eyebrow raised and retaliated with a long, cold stare.

Clint coughed awkwardly and turned his eyes to Tony, whose prolonged unconsciousness became a disturbing worry on the front of everybody's mind. Next to his bed Rhodey was snoozing uneasily in an uncomfortable looking chair, his hand resting on the bed-rail and his head nodding on the line between sleep and wakefulness. Bruce told them he stayed awake since they returned from the rescue efforts hours after extracting Tony, and had roamed the infirmary since then trying and succeeding at locating his friend and accompanying him to every test and surgery. He urged them not to interrupt his slumber, so they kept their conversation over disgusting-hospital -lunch hushed down.

The silence was aggravating, the white walls too bare. Clint was getting restless and his patience for the constant beeping of the machines hooked up to Tony was running out. If anyone wanted to break him – that would definitely be the method of torture they should choose.

Of course, it could be simply because he had to see his teammate all covered in bandages and casts, with the very few places not covered by those otherwise decorated with bruises and cuts. Clint counted them, over and over, his sharp eyes finding every bump or weirdly shaped appendage and adding them to the list of his reasons to kill every single one of the enemies they could subdue alive. Monsters, all of them.

"I'm going to buy us… like, a hundred pizzas." He declared as he stood up. "This hospital food is disgusting, Bruce." He said when the man's condemning look stuck to him, "Rhodey probably hadn't eaten all day, and I…" he bit his lip and closed his eyes, "I need to do something. I can’t be useless right now."

Bruce's eyes softened a bit, and Natasha nodded at him. "It wasn't your fault, Clint".

It was. If he'd only paid attention and saw where Tony ended up they would've found him earlier, he wouldn't have been… Clint put fingers through his hair, then nodded back at his partner and reached to pull his hearing aid from his ear as he left the room.

He could use some quiet time.

 

Moments after Clint left the room, Tony woke up. As before, the machines started beeping loudly before the man had shaken the influence of drugs completely away, broadcasting the sudden spike of his vitals to all who inhabited the room. Rhodey's head snapped back into complete awareness the moment it started, and was leaning over Tony before Bruce got a chance to come close enough and tell him otherwise. He had to be the first face Tony saw when he woke up, he handled this before – he knew how Tony would react to being in an unfamiliar environment, a hospital – no less. He'd been in this situation more times than he cared for, Afghanistan just the most recent.

"Tony, Tony." He held the man's and gently and felt his fingers curl against his palm, Tony's eyes roamed the room blindly before fixating on his face, he repeated the man's name in a whisper and let his other hand wipe a tear that run down his cheek, "You're safe, you're okay now. I've got you, I got you Tones…"  the machines beeping calmed the more he talked, his friend's eyes trained on him and his hand clutching desperately to Rhodey's. someone pulled the curtain around them – Bruce, he was standing on the other side of the bed, preparing a dose of Valium to put their friend down again. Tony seemed unaware of him; of anything, in fact. His lips parted then closed again like those of a fish out of water behind his oxygen mask, and Rhodey's heart shattered at the pain his eyes expressed, or the way he tried and only barely managed to squeeze his fingers around Rhodey's.

"He is in pain," Bruce whispered after a while, "I know you want-" Rhodey didn't move his eyes from Tony's, but he nodded slowly and watched as the drug took effect on the man he could call a brother and dragged him back to sleep. The hand not held by his friend was clutching the bed rail with such intensity it bent a little under his grip. Every single person occupying the room could tell that he was there to stay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whose point of view would you like to see next chap?


	3. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short, sorry.

Steve's hands were around his neck and were squeezing, crushing it with strength reserved for the nation's most iconic hero, Captain America. The man who was, at the moment, killing him.

He knew he had done something to deserve it, so Tony didn't struggle even as air was leaving him, even as Steve smiled at him and told him he was being 'good' and freed one of his hands to swipe a curl of hair away from his face, urged him to relax and let go, still not letting off the crushing pressure. Not even as he kissed him, not even as he invaded his body, ruining it over _and over and over—_

A surge of energy hit his body and it jerked violently, his eyes shooting open to find several faces looking down at him. None of them covered with the blue cowl of Captain America or looked at him with ice blue eyes full of the accusation and contempt he expected – but their hands were holding him down, and that was no less horrible at the moment.

His fear overwhelmed him. He shouted for them to let go but found his voice muffled by what seemed like a gas mask. He knew they were drugging him… he couldn't let them continue if he wanted to get away. He thrashed under their hands while attempting and failing not to cry out at the constant torment any slight amount of movement earned him, his eyes failed to focus and recognize who of his adversaries had gotten him this time.

He was supposed to be dead. He remembered not being able to breathe, being crushed by an enormous weight and calculating chances, scenarios… he was supposed to be dead, instead, he was… captured? Kidnapped? Is that what happened? Everything hurt, and the only time he could remember everything hurting so bad was Afghanistan, waking up during, and then after being operated on, waking up after being drowned and beat into the ground, waking up in the middle of the desert after crushing his first suit… and somehow this, at this moment, was worse. Something horrible happened – but he couldn't remember. Everything hurt so much. He needed help.

Steve's face became the only thing clear in his mind for a moment, and he wailed at the sight – Steve was there, he would help him. He knew Steve would help him, he trusted him- and then Steve would look at him with ice blue eyes, the mistake realized too late – and the cycle goes on and on. Once or twice a touch or a voice would reach him, and with it a whole new wave of anxiety. Thus, he would close his eyes and run back to the familiar - the blue cowl with an 'A' for 'America' drawn on its front, blue eyes… Steve...

 

"…To let him ride it out. Keep holding his hand and talking to him, he needs something to ground him. His breathing is regulated by the machines but it is useless if he keeps hyperventilating..." Bruce's voice hammered in Jim's mind, saying this was a panic attack, and James Rhodes had seen some of those before, he knew what they entailed and how terrible they could be. Tony had them since 'New York' – but he never admitted it, and Jim had never seen it get this bad for his friend.

He couldn't stand it. He held on to the man's sweaty hand, steadying it's acute shaking just barely as he watched him scarcely managing to breathe the air provided for him, crying and attempting to scream at the pain his entirely broken body was projecting. This was everything they were afraid of – Jim and Pepper, Happy too… this scenario of having to watch Tony actively dying or in this unbearable amount of pain was, by Tony's own decree, something that should not have happened. His Armor should have protected him – that stupid, horrible…

That's… what Pepper would say. Jim tried, he tried looking at Iron-Man and seeing it as a horrible thing that put his best friend in constant danger - instead he saw an engineering miracle, a tool that allowed Tony to perform incredible things for the betterment of the world - for the future. It brought back that idealistic, incredibly idiotic, risk-taking, _brilliant_ teenager from MIT back into his life… and that kid – he was a genuine Marvel.

So this? This fucked up situation? Jim knew Tony Stark, and he knew he will raise up and take it on and win. He knew that this anxiety attack and the pain – they would not break his friend. He would fight, and Jim- _Rhodey_ would fight by his side, as he always did, and they will win it together.

And if they did not, if Tony did break… Rhodey will be there to pick up the pieces, and he will be there to exact revenge on whoever struck the final blow against Tony.

"P-… Platypus…" Rhodey didn't even realize his eyes were closed when the creasing of his face eased at the sound of Tony's voice, "You shouldn't squeeze on my hand t-that hard, it was just barely put back together, you know…" Rhodey stared, his mouth agape at seeing his friend laying, now lax and seemingly calm on the hospital bed, ogling at him with those big, brown – almost too expressive eyes that could melt his anger or indifference without a blink, and were always so full of regret and pain and now a hundredfold more so.

"You… are a fucking idiot. You know that?" Rhodey wanted to smile reassuringly, instead, he felt something wet in the corners of his eyes and wiped them with his free hand, letting Tony squeeze the other. He was still breathing weirdly, the intubation in his nose was providing his air but he still tried breathing through his mouth and was having noticeable difficulty keeping a normal pace of that.

Other people started gathering around the bed, all smiling happily at Tony's apparent recovery – and the man immediately put on a mask, hiding his pain and smiling at them as well, even as his hand never let Rhodey go and kept squeezing for warmth and reassurance.

Tony wasn't in a mood for much small talk, as soon as he acknowledged everyone with a new fitting nickname and a weak quip, he asked what happened after he left the fight, and his mask slipped away as fast as it came on.

They filled him in, every person in the room adding his or her own tidbit about the occurrences after the Iron Man armor got debilitated with Tony inside it and flung aside. The breach he created in the defenses of the enemy's invasion army – Bruce noticed a slight twitch in Tony's eye when the word _invasion_ was used, he filed the reaction and kept talking -  allowed Sam and Natasha to reach the leader and take out the power source they were using. After that Thor and the Hulk were quick to pick any stray soldier and take the rest of them down. They thought they had all of them but…

Bruce cut the conversation quickly at that point. "Okay, enough for now." He said, his smile faltering as Tony turned to look at him with morbid exhaustion all over his face. "Tony- you need to rest. I know that's a foreign concept to you, but right now you're under my care and you will listen, or I'll call Steve and have him fawning all over you until you get too tired to stay awake." Tony didn't even argue with him, his eyes dropped and he nodded, throwing everyone off.

"Okay, Brucie." His voice was a just little more than a whisper, really, and his hold on Rhodey's hand slackened. "I'm glad I… I am glad it wasn't for nothing. I thought… I was sure…" he grinned and closed his eyes, his voice was just so _tired_ , completely defeated. "So, is it time for the happy drugs yet?" Tony barely exhaled the words, shook visibly and winced as he offered his hand for Bruce to inject with painkillers. He looked like an old, abused animal, none of the grandeur and dazzle he used to practically ooze out of every pore in his body was present now.

Natasha and Clint were back at her bed and were pulling the curtain around them to give Tony privacy as they talked among themselves. Rhodey was still sitting in his chair with his eyes every bit unfocused as he was tired from so many hours of wakefulness, Bruce made up his mind to get a spare bed in the room for the man before he exhausted himself completely. He injected Tony with the drug that would at least block some of the pain if not all of it for the duration of the night and watched as Tony's face relaxed, the lines in his forehead turning shallow and flatten while his body numbed.

When the man turned nearly unresponsive to his and Rhodey's soft conversation Bruce nodded at the other man and stood up. He showed Rhodey the distress buttons for the nurses and urged him to call him if Tony woke up or if anything out of the ordinary happened, then left the room and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

There was so much stress in his muscles he thought he could break someone's bones without any help from the Other Guy, as puny as he was in this form. he was holding back on Him, and the Hulk didn't like being held back, it didn't like that his Metal-Man was hurt and sad, he wanted to _smash_. Bruce thought that for a change – he agreed with that need.

His fist clenched as he fought down the green, monstrous rage bubbling in his gut. It would do no one, especially not Tony, any good if he were to lose his temper. It would be absolutely devastating, in fact.

 As he turned, heading to request a spare bed to be added to Tony's room for Rhodey to catch some rest while staying close to Tony, Bruce came face to face with a stern looking Steve Rogers in full 'Captain America' attire.

"Oh, hey Steve." Bruce smiled, "here to see Tony? he is resting right now but I'm sure Clint and Nat would appreciate the company."  

 Steve dipped his head a bit, still not smiling. "Ah… no, I mean." He sighed and looked aside. "I just wanted to hear how he was doing, I was going to ask at the nurse station and then head out to help with the reconstruction efforts some more." He looked disturbed, maybe even guilty.

Bruce couldn't have that. "I'm sure Tony would be delighted to see you, Steve." He said, widening his smile, "He is alive thanks to you. We wouldn't have found the location until it was too late if you didn't pass us a message, and removing all that debris from his chest probably saved his life even before that."

And wasn't that unfortunate.

Steve returned Banner's smile, even if he didn't feel like smiling at all. Everything felt wrong about this – the person he supposedly saved? He _wanted_ to die. Steve saw it in his eyes, heard it in the words he said… and he… Steve paused that train of thought. "You said he is resting, he woke up?" he said, turning to find Bruce's eyes surveying him. The man nodded and his features turned heavy.

"Had an anxiety attack during his sleep, Colonel Rhodes brought him back and we gave him some pain relief so he could go back to sleep. He was clear-headed and asked what happened when he got sidelined in the battle, so that's some good news. At the very least we know he didn't suffer from severe head trauma… oh, sorry. I'm giving too much information aren't I." Steve opened his eyes and found Bruce looking at him hesitantly, he realized his smile had slipped away from him as he listened and how that must have looked.

"Ah, no, no. I'm sorry." Steve buried his face in the palm of his hand. "It's been a long day, I'm a bit tired. That's all."  

"Yes, I understand," Bruce nodded and sighed, "Well, you should go rest then, Captain. I'm sure Thor and the rest of the team can handle the situation outside for a few more hours."

"Maybe I'll go see Tony after all… see that he is…" _dead_ "…see how he is." Steve earned a tired smile from Bruce.

"Great! I'll tell you what, I was going to arrange a bed for the Colonel because he simply refuses to leave Tony's side, and frankly – the man had been awake for a lot more hours than I would personally recommend… if you get him to go home, take a shower and sleep a night, you can have that bed instead."

 

It took a while. Rhodes insisted Tony needed him there – what if he woke up with another anxiety attack? What if one of his too many enemies decided to take advantage of the situation? His voice was laced with sleep-depraved paranoia. Bruce told him he would be no help to the man if he got hospitalized due to exhaustion, and Steve interjected harshly that the man _reeked_ of three days without a wash, and that Tony would probably want him to take a relaxing shower and eat a burger and get some sleep, also – someone needed to talk to Pepper, reassure the bots their creator was okay. Steve would take care of Tony, Natasha and Bruce were there. War Machine was not needed.

Eventually, Steve promised he would personally watch Tony. he was military too, he could stay alert through the night and make sure his teammate got his beauty sleep as needed.

Rhodes was not happy to concede, and before he put on the war machine armor he looked back at Steve, his eyes projecting waves of mistrust. Steve shook his head at him and crossed his arms, watching the armor's back as it left the room.

Natasha was released from observation that same afternoon, Bruce went to get a couple hours of well-deserved sleep and put a different doctor in charge.

Steve and Tony remained alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, what's Steve going to do.


	4. Friendly face

Sometimes, Steve pondered his relationships with people in the past. He thought of his drunkard father, and his mom – the sickness that took her from him and plagued his own life for many years, hardened him against difficulty and hardship. He thought – fondly- of his best friend. Bucky was always there for him – always affirming and supportive, ready to defend and protect Steve's choices, even while reprimanding him for the idiocy and stubbornness that led to them.

Steve thought of Peggy, and the Howling Commandos. He thought of Howard Stark. All those people had believed in him, loved and respected him and his decisions, even those they did not agree on in the beginning. They knew that Steve was rarely wrong, that his strategic mind was no less perfected than his body – and their trust in him was absolute to the point of disobeying orders from higher command.

In the present, he had some people who were like that – Sam, for example.

He knew the man would follow him and believe in him. Bucky would, too, once the mind control thing is dealt with. All in all, the Avengers as a team followed his lead with next to no complaint, believing justly that he knew what he was doing.

Except for Stark.

Steve looked at Tony – the man breathing through tubes and an oxygen mask, his face lined with years and worries was nothing less than deplorable, his hair still lined with crusted mats of blood and filth. He was pale, and by all means _looked_ dead.

The thought of this body belonging to Tony disheartened him.

He could not find a speck of happiness at the man being alive. It was weird, he knew it was. He thought about it for hours, trying to run through his mind other people close to him who died or were otherwise lost to him, and he found that each time a pain awakened in his chest. He felt the same ache when he looked at Tony's living yet broken body.

Back at the crash site Steve was able to visualize Tony as he was before he got hurt, and he'd hoped he could keep that image in his mind after the man was gone. However – Tony lived, and now he had to watch him in this form. A pale and poor version of Tony Stark, one that did not deserve the name, did not accommodate it properly. It was simply wrong.

A part of him kept wondering if any of it could ever be fixed. The uncertainty was maddening – at least in Death Tony could have spared him that feeling of unrelenting hopelessness. Now that the man hanged on the line between life and death, stubbornly refusing to choose one of the two, Steve would have to either be patient and see what happens or…

The thought had lingered on his mind since the moment Bruce told him Tony was alive. His fingers twitched where they rested on his thigh and he groaned, the feel of Tony's skin under them still fresh in his memory. He craved that feeling again, and for a moment was glad that he'd have another opportunity at it, now that Stark was confirmed to be still living, even if Steve could not find hope within itself for it to last.

With Tony, his relationship had always been weird. When Steve came out of the ice and was briefed on his future teammates, he was so happy to find out Howard had settled down and had a son who would too provide consulting to whatever team he would end up on. He was then less pleased to find out that said son had all but run his father's legacy to the ground with a frivolous, spoiled lifestyle. Sure – Howard was not much better with his own social life back in the day, drinking and sleeping around, flirting with everything that moved – but he also provided the troops with weapons and protection and had not shut everything down to feed his own ego, as Tony did when he started out as Iron Man.

And then their first out-of-costume meeting happened, after they'd subdued Loki, and Steve was again proved right for his prejudgment of Stark. The words they exchanged were harsh, Steve tried to measure Tony up, confronted him with the knowledge he had of him from both his time as Howard's friend and from the file he had read on the man. He tried to find a shred of what his father had been in him – but the man was just too different, trying too hard to separate himself from the reputation and image of Howard Stark. That desperation was not charming.

From there on out, it's been a mess of mixed signals. Sometimes, despite knowing it was true – Steve wondered if Tony Stark and Iron Man were really the same man. Sometimes he found himself wondering if the man he was talking with was actually Tony Stark, or if he was just a stand in. Time after time Iron man would perform feats of heroics on the battle-field no one expected of him after meeting Tony Stark, just to later justify their prejudice by playing it up in order to gain praise from his teammates under guise of worrying about the future.

The man claimed to be a realist, a… what was the word? _Futurist._ Steve found that sort of dishonesty stomach-turning. And yet…

And yet Steve loved him. At first – as he'd love and respect a teammate, a fellow hero. He'd loved Bucky, Peggy and the Howling commandos, he'd loved Howard Stark – and so he loved his son as well. They worked together seamlessly, moved as two sides of the same coin do, and in a fight were unbeatable when they worked together. Soon Steve learned to tolerate and after a while, even like the feisty banter and nicknames, learned to read Tony's movement and predict his moves. They became friends of a sort – as Captain America and Iron Man, Winghead and Shellhead – and that worked.

As Tony and Steve however, the disagreements were forever lasting. They'd fight tirelessly, shouting and arguing over such trivial matters that sometimes Steve thought Tony disagreed just to get a rise from him – just to get him angry. He wouldn't put it past the man, honestly. He probably knew how those arguments affected Steve, too. The man had his creepy super-computer spy after his teammates – all of them were quite sure of that, how could Steve know if the man hadn't watched him while he… _pleasured himself_ after their fights. Maybe that was why he was so difficult all the time.

It made sense – as much as Tony Stark could make sense, anyway.

Maybe it really was just a matter of time before the two of them advanced their weird relationship into something more, took out their frustrations with each-other in a more effective way. Steve was sure that Tony was just as interested as he was. The rest of the team realized it too, some of them knew that it was so a long time before Steve thought of it himself, and had teased them about it at any moment, relishing on flustered expressions and faces turning red.

Tony had laughed with them, provided his own material to the team repartee regarding his and Steve's supposed relationship and teased the old-school Captain for his chaste nature as he made lewd comments, he played a game of Gay Chicken Steve had no intention of losing.

At the very least, Tony stark was open to the idea enough to joke about it. That in itself was proof enough for Steve to consider stripping the man naked and savagely fucking him right where they stood after each time they fought. It was enough to fuel his dreams and fantasies and hours of masturbation inspired by them, and it was enough to allow himself to believe that despite their differences and initial – if somewhat lasting- dislike, he fell in love with Tony Stark.

When he looked at Tony now, he couldn't find regret for what happened. Sure, it would have been better if they did that in a bedroom, and if Stark was not a broken body on the verge of death, it would have been nice if he could participate and express his own love and appreciation of Steve as he did Tony's. The scenario could not have been much worse for their first time – had it not been their potential last time as well.

It was a long time coming, and so Steve was just happy that it happened at all.

But then, Bruce had to go and call it 'Rape'. As if Steve would ever do something like that. Not that they knew it was him – sure, if one of their enemies was to do the same as Steve did, that'd be sexual assault… Although… knowing Tony, he'd probably enjoy it anyway. The man talked – if in a joking tone – about fucking an alien being an item on his bucket list. So how horrible would that really be for him, anyway? Who is to say Tony wouldn't have provoked them to do it by his own resolve, if the chance presented itself? Steve himself was baited by the man to do what he did, made to believe that it was his last chance to ever touch… have Tony as he dreamed to for so long.

The absurdity of the entire situation was beyond frustrating, and the man to blame for everything was lying still on the bed right in front of him, infuriatingly still and silent.

Steve felt the usual mix of ire and excitement that accompanied each of his and Tony's arguments start to bubble in his gut. Even unconscious, Tony could provoke him with his mere presence in close proximity, maddening Steve with his argumentative nature even if only in his own head.

Steve buried his face in the palm of his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose in a try to soothe his budding headache and the pressure that suddenly encompassed him from all directions. He was tired of this, weary of keeping himself subdued and calm for the sake of anyone else. And most of all for Tony's sake.

It was time, he decided, to do something for himself. Steve had waited, he waited until it was almost too late and now he didn't even know if what he wanted before was what he would get now. He needed to make sure that if he chose to pursue this – if he was to make Tony his paramour or even just a fuck-buddy of some sort, Tony would still be the same as the one he lusted after.

 

Tony saw spots in the darkness. A sign that his medications were wearing off… surely enough the pain started prickling under his skin not long after that, turning numbness into torment. He wondered if Rhodey would still be there when he woke up; hoped so – but also knew he'd tell him to go home and sleep if he found him sitting by him and holding his hand again. It wasn't right that he had to worry so much about Tony – nobody needed that kind of responsibility for his stubborn, borderline suicidal self. And yet his friend took it voluntarily, years ago.

Tony never understood why. But neither did he complain. Having a real friend who actually cared about him for the first time of his entire life – not counting robots an AIs – was not something he could afford to complain about, even if he did make a good show of doing just that.

As Tony reminisced quite peacefully inside his mind about wild years of a sixteen years old and a twenty-two years old youngling geniuses conquering MIT with their combined mischievous brilliance, the pain was rapidly becoming worse by the second. Tony wanted to wake up and beg a nurse to give him some of those amazing drugs Bruce had used before to numb the feeling of being run over by a truck in a prolonged and unending sequence.

 But… when Tony finally managed to open his eyes and blinked to get rid of the heavy dizziness, he became convinced that he was stuck in a nightmare and could not truly wake up.

He kept seeing Steve's face looming over him in the darkness of the room, and his chest felt like fire was burning right through the center of it, just as it did under the rubble and the crushed chest-piece of his suit and later – how it felt when his breathing efforts were stopped by a pair of lips clashing with his own, and a tongue invading his mouth with violent determination. He remembered it fuzzily, from the verge of his consciousness with barely any air in his lungs.

At the time, he thought he was dreaming as well. Maybe he was… it was more plausible than the notion of being… by Captain America out of everyone. Couldn't his mind produce someone he could actually deal with doing this? Because Steve, Cap – he wouldn't. Howard's words echoed in his mind, telling him of the greatest Hero he'd _never_ get to meet, the man Tony will never, in his life, compare to. He wanted to laugh but even more than that – he wished to just _really_ wake up already.

His breathing accelerated, his heavy eyelids were barely open to meet with Steve's handsome and stern looking blues, when they eventually did his breath caught in his throat in a too familiar fashion. He'd learned to recognize his panic attacks after experiencing a few too many following New York, and his body was reacting involuntarily and against his will, convulsing and thrashing as he barely breathed in what was provided the oxygen mask on his face.

It was a dream, just a dream. He knew that – but everything was too real. Steve was too real – and yet he just stood there and watched him like an eagle, ready to plunge in on the carcass that remained after he finally let out his final breath. Steve wouldn't, couldn't really be this way – Tony knew that. So this must have been a dream, it must have been…

Suddenly a hand roughly met with his chest, pinning him down as another went to his pelvic area, pushing his body down against the bed. Tony couldn't scream, he could barely make a coherent sound as his throat felt constricted – like something was lodged in it. _Wake up, Wake up…._

Steve was still there, still glaring at him with a kind of thrill in his eyes Tony recognized – to add much to his current state of horror – from seeing just the same expression when Steve had held him down and touched him in all the wrong places as he was dying. This was a dream, before was a dream too, wasn't it? Steve wouldn't…

And then the mask was gone, a hand settled on the base of his neck and another found its place pushing down against his bandaged thigh. It was straining the wounds and pulling on the stitches and Tony hissed in pain, then whimpered at the burn in his throat that spread down to his lungs and his heart and everywhere – breathing was impossible.

The expression on Steve's face remained neutral during Tony's thrashing and honest effort of breathing properly, he remained unfazed by the noises Tony's throat was making while trying to draw down air enough to keep himself alive. Just like before he seemed undisturbed by his teammate's peril.

"Oh Tony…" Steve's eyes softened when Tony finally managed to move one hand enough to grasp on the wrist of the hand at the base of his neck. He leaned down above him, each of his eyes meeting Tony's with a noticeable frown. He sighed – or groaned as his other hand moved up and down Tony's thigh. "I was afraid you'd be broken now; you know? I thought you wouldn't try to fight anymore. That you'd just give up?" His voice was soft but had an undertone of rancor, and Tony couldn't linger on his words because his mind was going so fuzzy and wrong with the lack of air. "That'd be just the worst, wouldn't it? It would be the least Stark thing you can do. He never gave up, did he? So how could _you?_ I'll have to admit to being conflicted right now."

The hand tightened, cutting Tony's breathing efforts almost completely. "I thought… I thought you'd be dead, is why I did what I did." He sighed, "I thought it'd be the last time I saw you, how could I deny myself… us, how could I deny both of us that one time? It was a long time coming and we almost missed it, I knew that. I did what was right for us." He let go then, only keeping one hand on Tony's body, on his trembling thigh on which wounds had now re-opened and were leaking blood again. His one hand enough to keep Tony completely still and at his mercy. "Don't twist my words like you usually do, though. I'm glad you are alive. I'm happy we will get to start again."

He didn't sound happy. Tony closed his eyes, the pain coursing through his body was overwhelming and the need to scream was nagging at his mind but he _couldn't_ , he wanted to wake up – thought the pain should have made it happen already but it didn't and Tony still couldn't believe that anything he saw was real.

His murmured rejections went unanswered as Steve leaned down, his free hand cupping Tony's chin and cheek to turn his face for a breath-stealing kiss, just like before. Silencing him and ignoring any complaint that was impossible to make.

While Steve was busy administering his Kiss of Death, Tony searched his mind for anything, literally any idea that would either wake him up from the nightmare or alert people outside of it what was happening. He knew most of the hospitals were getting a lot of tech from the medical engineering section of SI, and the Avengers – if not Rhodey, would know to take him to a hospital not using his own tech would earn them a bitching when he was better. He was sure even in an emergency, they would make an effort to surround him with his own tech.

Which meant Tony knew any piece of equipment he was surrounded by rather intimately.

Tony could barely move his hands due to pain, so it was a relief to discover the Emergency buttons panel in an approachable position on the side of the bed as was designed by his R&D department and approved by his own hand, he was just able to press it as his body convulsed again under Steve's body, desperate for air and relief.

Was losing consciousness possible in a dream? If he did – would he finally wake up? Tony's eyes drooped close as the kiss just didn't seem to end, and the terror of dying yet again filled his heart. Worse yet – he'd die in a hospital rather than a battlefield while doing good for the world, helpless and vulnerable by the hands of his childhood idol? It'd better be a nightmare, better be some sort of coping mechanism, trying to put a… 'friendly face' to his impending doom…? Oh, he ever so hoped it was really that.

Just as he was drifting away and giving up the notion of ever breathing again, Steve let go and placed the oxygen mask back on his nose and mouth, Tony was almost drinking down his shallow breathes of air, trying desperately to find a normal pace so he didn't even notice as Steve turned to face the nurse that came into the room in haste and told her to call Bruce, gesturing at the opened, bleeding wound on Tony's thigh. He couldn't comprehend what he was saying, just saw the worried look and the nod the nurse pointed at him before leaving the room again.

Steve's hand never left his bleeding thigh.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve, stop being so awful. GOD.


	5. ProtoType

Rhodey didn't go to his own apartment after being shamefully kicked out of Tony's room in the hospital. He couldn't bear to be all on his own, but the company of other people was also too much. The solution on days like those was usually 'talk to Tony until he annoys the melancholy away.' When Tony wasn't available, a conversation with JARVIS was always a nice distraction. Considering it was built by Tony – the A.I. was incredibly level-headed, and always found the most intriguing and relevant conversational topics.

Rhodey knew bonding with JARVIS was a good way to annoy Tony back, though he wasn't sure which of them was stealing the other from giving Tony their full attention. Probably both.

That was why he went to the tower then, thinking about the room Tony arranged for him to have – too luxurious, and also full of so much nostalgia junk Rhodey was never able to actually sleep in there. Tony made a special effort to fill the closet with every piece of MIT related clothing he could purchase after Rhodey mentioned – just once – that Tony had stolen his sweater and never gave it back. The little jerk.

The Tower was empty and dark, the Avengers were only living there on and off and it seemed like most of them were out there helping or at the hospital with Tony. Rhodey was forbidden from both by Banner, and he knew it would not be responsible to try and fly his suit after not sleeping for two days. With War machine, the risk of causing damage was a lot more present, as JARVIS was not installed in the suit.

He still would have preferred to be out there.

"Welcome, Colonel Rhodes." The familiar voice of the A.I. greeted him, and Rhodey smiled softly. "May I assume you will be spending the night with us, Colonel?"

After a short pause, Rhodey nodded. "Jarv, listen. I… We…" a sigh left his mouth "I am so sorry; Tony is…"

Logically, he knew Jarvis was updated on news feeds all the time, the A.I. knew his Sir was in the hospital, if not the details of what happened to him. JARVIS was never too squeamish about hacking into the most secure systems in the world as a pastime. And even less so when it considered his master's safety. Rhodey still recalled the havoc the A.I. created in the USAF computer systems during Afghanistan, it was terrifying.

JARVIS was silent for a long moment. "Understood, Colonel. I do not require further information. Your room is ready. May I suggest you enjoy a soak in Sir's private bathtub?"

Despite his feeling of helplessness, Rhodey managed to chuckle. "You know me so well, Jarv. Turn on the Jacuzzi jets, then."

 

Rhodey may have over indulged himself at Tony's minibar. He was trashing Tony's lab. He realized he was doing it after the third picture frame he broke and shattered on the floor, and he couldn't quite stop. The paintings themselves were not harmed – Tony would hate him if they were… the man was an art and antique _nerd_. He stopped with the paintings and moved on to the work area, where he pushed unfinished diagrams and schematics off the table along with work tools and incomplete stereotypes, he knew things broke when they hit the floor, he knew and he didn't care. What good were any of those things Tony was building – he noticed a schematic for a new rocket launcher for War machine – what good was any of it if it couldn't even protect his best friend?

Rhodey wiped tears from his eyes, gritted his teeth to rid himself of the remainders of rage and self-hatred. This has been just like Afghanistan. The same kind of breakdown. If anyone saw him, they would be mortified that a Colonel in the USAF would act in such a childish way. He was not wearing his uniform, but he was defiling them with his behavior no less for that.

He found himself sitting on the floor, surrounded by schematics and broken prototypes. Butterfingers chirped at him from the table and he had to wipe more tears as he waded through the papers to find something he could fix. He was not as smart as Tony, and maybe did not understand some of the more Sci-Fi things the man created, but he knew enough engineering to fix a prototype, he was a rocket scientist for Christ sake.

And yet, for all of his competence and intelligence, Rhodey couldn't even protect Tony stark. Granted, the man was a risk-taking idiot and acted independent to a fault, and nobody should bear _that_ burden – but he was Rhodey's idiot, and he has already taken it on.

Despite Bruce's assertion that Rhodey had to sleep and eat, he found himself unable to. He had Jarvis order something in but had not taken the takeout out of the containers since the night before.

He still had to call Pepper, tell her and Happy what was going on. Get Tony's closest friends closer to him. There were so many things to do, to arrange. Tony was… Rhodey breathed in sharply and raised a hand to his temple. Tony was raped. And Rhodey, with all of his experience as a commanding officer in the military, his familiarity with sexual violence in that environment and the protocols of handling such within a military unit – had no idea what to do.

The helplessness was eating at him all night, he thought of calling one of the Avengers over because misery loved company, but the thought of any of them walking around in Tony's personal space after being exposed to private information about his state was suddenly repulsive to him. He wasn't even sure what he himself was doing there, and the guilt joined helplessness in consuming him from the inside-out. The breakdown happened and the aftermath produced a small, light emitting gadget Rhodey wasn't sure about the purpose it fulfilled. He was pretty sure it was _not_ a bomb, but with Tony, one could never know.

After finishing that up, he started walking around the lab to pick up and place back everything he handled roughly hours before, he got the food he ordered the day before and ate while watching Star Wars episode IV, his and Tony's arguable favorite. He finally fell asleep on the sofa near the ending of the movie while replaying in his mind moronic, nerdy arguments about the movie made by his and Tony's younger selves. _Who even cares who shot first._

 

When Bruce got to the room in a rush, getting into his lab coat and adjusting his glasses as he went to the ward and processed in the situation. For some reason, the machinery in Tony's room had not alerted him to the panic attack and that… he'd have to check that, later. At that moment he needed to see to Tony.

Another doctor was there before him and took care of re-stitching the wound and changing the blood-stained bedding, it was good – because Bruce didn't think he could really handle another view of Tony covered in blood like he was when they first brought him in. One of the nurses called him over just before he got the room entrance. The door was closed – and the reason for that, as he learned from the stern, short woman in hospital scrubs, was that captain America was an over-protective _ass_ – her words – and was not leaving the room to let the nurses do their jobs, would not even let them pull out a curtain to take care of the less attractive chores of caring for a human being.

"He just holed up in there, giving my nurses the 'Captain America' glare and barks orders at them!" Her face was one of pure rage as she talked about Steve, slandering the Captain for about three minutes for the way he treated the employees under her command. She kept on talking for ages, so Bruce couldn't really be blamed for drifting away from the conversation a bit. "-"-Even the Colonel – Bless his heart, he was so polite all the time. He got up and got out of the room when it was needed to change a diaper… even if he did leave that armor around all the time. He let me touch it, actually. Mr. Stark designed that thing – did he not? Such a brilliant young man, so sad, so sad." She shook her head, looking genuinely gloomy on Tony's behalf. "No one deserves what he was through, you just can't go through it and be the same. No wonder he gets panicked."

At that point, he cut her off. "Ms. … Ms. Song?" He read the name tag on her lapel quietly, then repeated her name a bit louder when her babbling had not ceased. She looked at him with a raised brow and crossed her arms. "I promise I will get Steve to leave the room for enough time, so your nurses can do what needs to be done, but for that, I need to go into the room, if that is okay with you?" He tried to stay civil, but couldn't help but feel like a bit of unintended frostiness invaded his tone. The head-nurse definitely noticed that, and she grumbled loudly enough for him to hear her complain about 'damn Doctors always think they know best' and 'he doesn't want to see _me_ get angry.'

Bruce imagined the Hulk would definitely like that lady.

When Bruce got in the room the first thing he noticed was a distinct stench. The nurses didn't really get the opportunity to do some basic hygiene routines for Tony because of the amount of time required for his surgeries and recovery, he smelled like he had just finished a week-long binge in the lab without a shower, the smell of blood and sweat with the additional smell of antiseptic in the air, made it all the more unbearable. He found himself sympathizing with Ms. Song's rant for a moment before laying eyes on Steve.

The man sat, a bit crouched over Tony's still body, one of his hands gently tapping just above the now bandaged injury on his thigh while the other held Tony's hand tightly. He turned to look at Bruce when he entered, mentally prepared to start a fight - if Bruce read his expression right, and then relaxed when he saw who it was who entered.

"I heard you've been giving the nurses trouble with your infamous stubbornness." Bruce quipped as he got closer and put his hand on Steve's tense shoulder, rubbing at it to sooth the muscle. Steve sighed and gave him a thankful smile before returning his eyes to Tony.

The man was awake, but his eyes were shut closed with his brow creased with lines of pain and effort, his breath was quick and shallow like he was trying to get too much air but was getting too little instead, despite the oxygen mask strapped tightly over his mouth and nose and around his head. He sweated so much a thick sheen made every patch of bare skin of his body shine, he was too pale and his entire body looked tense and trembled horribly.

"I just… he suddenly started shaking, thrashing all over the place." Steve murmured, "I tried to keep him calm and used too much force when I kept him from climbing-- falling off the bed—and the stitches just tore." A guilty undertone slithered into his voice as Tony's body reacted to his words by giving another intense shudder, "the oxygen mask fell when I tried…" another shudder, Tony moved his head slightly to the side and if even possible, the creases in his brow deepened even further.

Bruce reached for a small holographic screen tablet, designed by none other than Stark Industries to function as an easy and accessible patient database for the doctors and nurses, containing their file and recording every medical procedure and medicine administered. The last time Tony received any pain-killers was when he himself prescribed it. No wonder the man looked like he was lying in hellfire. He raised an eyebrow at Steve who looked at him back with clear annoyance in his features.

"I told them to call you but they called some other half-wit instead." He said quietly, turning back to look at Tony's face, "could've been Hydra for all we know, we have too many enemies, Bruce. We can't just let any other person touch him and inject him with who knows what."

Bruce sighed deeply. Was there some sort of _paranoia_ bug going around at that hospital and infecting people? Not that it was entirely impossible, but the chances of that happening were too low to deprive Tony of pain relief after getting his thigh torn apart a second time, it was unreasonable.

"We vetted all the doctors here, Dr. Garcia was one of the surgeons who operated on Tony, they're very accomplished and knows what they're doing." He said with the same frostiness he used on Ms. Song a few minutes before, only to regret it when Steve looked at him with injured baby-blues, like an over-grown Labrador. "Steve, I understand how you feel. I am worried for his well-being too but I can't- I will not be here all of the time, we can't be here all of the time. Tony is due for a long recovery period and at one point or another a different Doctor will have to take care of prescribing his meds and taking care of him and we will have to trust them."

Steve lowered his head, his hand tightened over Tony's and he responded by making a small grunting noise and shaking his head from side to side, clearly in pain.

Bruce flinched at the reaction and hurried to get a syringe to give Tony some relief, if not put him back to sleep. Steve watched his every move in a most predatory manner and it made him a little anxious despite himself, seeing how Steve squinted his eyes when Bruce injected Tony with the meds, it made him think of an animal protecting territory.

"Listen, Steve…" he began before realizing he wasn't sure what he could say. If he chases Steve out now the man might just throw himself into the reconstruction efforts and law enforcements out there and not get the rest he needed. Bruce knew just how much guilt-ridden Avengers could fuck up their lives, and he wasn't comfortable with letting Steve go away like that. "How about I tell the nurses you can stay in the room while they do their duties? They would still need to pull out the curtain, but you will be able to be here and intervene if anything nefarious happened." Ms. Song was going to deck him for even suggesting it.

When Steve nodded sternly, his eyes focusing on Tony and more specifically, on where Bruce was still touching Tony's arm after finishing with the syringe, Bruce let out some held up air. The Hulk felt unsettled – not just angry – he was always angry. This was something else.

"Steve, did something...?" keeping his voice as soft as he could, Bruce thought back to the meeting of the morning before, how Steve asked about what happened to Tony but did no really seemed surprised, how he avoided visiting for so long and then just suddenly become this protective.

Bruce knew how the two of them acted around each other, and he was privy to many hours of Tony ranting on and on about the captain. Clearly, there was something between them – even if they were as oblivious as blind moles about it. He breathed in again and took back his hand away from where it rested on Tony's arm. "How much of what happened did you witness?"

Whatever happened – and Bruce was now just beginning to estimate how disastrous that was – made Steve pause for a bit, then, when he talked, his voice was laced with a peculiar kind of anger that made chills run up Bruce's spine, and the Hulk inside him a little too excited for his liking. "I watched him _die_. Banner."

Steve moved his hand from clasping Tony's palm to his wrist, rubbing the bruised skin gently and ignoring any involuntary twitches that landed that arm away from him. "I… Bruce…" he whispered, his eyes softening as he looked up at the Doctor. "I thought he would die, and that I would never have a chance. I always delayed, always thought there would be a better time." His voice was breaking up, and Bruce found his eyes dampening as he thought of how it would have felt. Losing a friend was hard, losing Tony would be devastating. Losing him without getting to tell him about your feelings…

Steve must have felt heart broken.

He was going to say words of encouragement, remind him Tony was still alive, still there. He had that chance now and they would be amazing together – and then Tony lost control.

 

He jolted into awareness with an almost-scream, his voice too croaky to actually be able to make such a sound, but hell if he didn't try. He thrashed and beat his head in every direction he could without ever opening his eyes. He could feel the same fingers that choked him before rubbing at his wrist and the touch was making everything worse, he couldn't handle it, not Steve – not again.

He didn't open his eyes, not planning to fall into another nightmare featuring his friend as the maniacal rapist. He couldn't let his mind play any more games on him, had to find out what was going on but more importantly at that moment – had to get away from the touch of one Steve Rogers.

Without noticing that he did, Tony had been chanting a plead for Steve to go away for some long minutes, not ceasing his body's struggle against air and nothing, only to stop when Bruce's voice managed to break through his confused mumbling and clogged ears. Bruce wasn't in either of his dreams, so maybe this was actually real? Did he finally really wake up? Or… was his mind turning his torture even more elaborate?

He dared to open his eyes, blinking them a few times to find a clearing image of Bruce looking at him with his worry lines digging deeper in his forehead than Tony ever saw them. "…Big green…" he slurred, opening his eyes a bit wider, and then he finds the other person by his side, and his heart sinks. "B-Bruce…" he whimpered and lunged at his friend, grabbing at his lab coat in an attempt to pick himself up and move away from Steve who had the same stern and cold expressions as he did in the nightmares.

Pain attacked his body all over as he did it, he felt dizzy but everything was better than spending another helpless moment lying in bed with Steve staring down at him like that. He buried his head in the folds of Bruce's shirt and panted heavily as he tried to form words to explain his bizarre acts. "Bruce, p-please…" he whined when Bruce tangles a hand in his hair and caresses him, "Mmm-make him g-go."

He felt Bruce shift to look at Steve, could imagine the curve of his brow at the request. Bruce will want to ask why, later. It was fine. Tony could tell. Bruce would think it's ridiculous because it absolutely was, and then they would laugh and everything will be okay again. He won't see the image of Steve's hateful look directed at him ever again.

 "Steve, I think Tony and I need to talk privately for a few moments."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey needs to get all the spotlight tbh. Also some bonding time with JARVIS, who is probably going to be more dangerous than even the Hulk when (if) the truth comes out.
> 
> I tried to make sure that Steve never outright LIES about anything. he is not telling the truth, he is omitting information. he is basically being a manipulative son of a bitch. did I pull that off?
> 
> Poor Tony still thinks it was just a dream, but I think the disbelief is starting to unravel.


	6. Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like chapters are just getting shorter and shorter.  
> This one is a bit of a filler?  
> Well, try to enjoy.  
> 

Tony would not say a thing; Steve was sure of it.

As he stepped out of the room, walking slowly and glancing back at the pair – Bruce with his hand resting on Tony's back as he buried his head between the folds of Bruce's coat – Steve felt a familiar pang of jealousy, the same he felt when he heard Howard and Peggy talk about 'Fondue' back in the day, the suggestion of which made him clench his jaw and retreat despite his desire to do anything but. The same feeling every time he saw Bucky with a dame on each arm, requiring his attention. Different from what he felt when he looked at men putting on the uniform, a different kind of jealousy.

Before he felt it towards his closest friends, even when they interacted with each other there was some kind of need on his part – for their attention to be him. Their trust to belong with him, their loyalty…

People were quick to peg him a selfless martyr for the sacrifices he supposedly made – enlisting in the army, letting mad scientists perform their dangerous magic on him, taking on Hydra with limited resources and against orders, Even crashing the Valkyrie into the ice - an act of heroism – he gained from all of those actions. Love, adoration, loyalty so fierce it preserved for years after his perceived death. 

Howard was the example that Steve was most fond of – Peggy moved on and got married, Bucky was with Hydra and couldn't remember him – not his fault, of course. Howard? Howard focused all of his resources on Steve, including his own person. He neglected his family, neglected Tony. For Steve's sake. And with the little pang of anger at that mistreatment, Steve found it made him feel… not exactly good; but appreciated, wanted, not entirely forgotten.

Howard gave him Tony. damaged and longing to be fixed – if Steve was willing to take him.

The way he felt, then, when he saw Bruce comforting Tony, was less envy and more… a grudge - maybe - of some sort.

He knew Tony and Banner were close and spent plenty of time talking and understanding the scientific talk Steve could ever only grasp at bits of - researching for context only when it was too late to interject into a conversation, they spent time together in the lab, referred to each other with exclusive nicknames…

But no, they weren't together. He knew that. Bruce had been teasing him and Tony about a supposed attraction just like everyone else – if a bit more mellow, never jealous or angry of the bond Steve and Tony obviously shared. Steve couldn't imagine a scenario where he could do something like that with his own lass – or lad, in Tony's case. Just the thought of having to share spat him now, despite not having paid any attention to their relationship before.

Just as he was sure Bruce and Tony were not a romantic item, he was also sure Tony would not say anything. Steve saw the look in his eyes when he kissed him a second time – the confusion and fear covering up the obvious intrigue in what was happening – the want and acceptance of how right it was for both of them to be doing this. Tony knew Steve would not hurt him. Tony trusted him. Therefore, Steve knew – Tony won't say a thing because being with Steve was all the man ever really wanted.

 

Tony didn't say a thing.

Bruce looked at him, worry in the lines creasing his face as he laid Tony back down on the bed before he checked the machinery to see that his friend was getting all he needed. His breath was still erratic, still not giving him enough oxygen. Stress was evident in the way Tony tensed at every stray touch, and that didn't go away even after Steve finally left the room.

"Tony…" he tried saying his name without letting himself sound as tired as he really was, it wasn't working. He wasn't sure what he wanted to ask. About what happened? he knew - well, he had an idea, a theory. About Steve? If his Theory was right, it explained that as well. He couldn't make Tony live through it yet again, not to satisfy his curiosity. Eventually Tony will tell them… or he won't, probably the second option, because it was Tony. "Tony, if something hurts I can give you another dose of painkillers." He said in a whisper, only to recoil when Tony shook his head in fierce denial and mutters his rejection.

"No, Please Bruce…" he whispered and looked up, "I can't… I won't go back to sleep. Please don't make me." His voice, while still strained and shrill, was rather steady. His hands were fumbling with the thin sheet covering his body. "I just… I feel like I'm going crazy, I should stay awake. I can't sleep all of the time, right? I need to do something. I'll get Pepper to bring me some tools and blueprints from R&D and do that. Nothing heavy…" he mumbled under his breath, Bruce could barely keep up with the pace of his words. "Just keep the mind working, I have so many ideas and I am stuck here so I might as well be useful right? Bruce? Right?"

Bruce hesitated, Tony was obviously repressing the cause for his repeated panic attacks, his fear of sleep indicated nightmares, despite having been administered drugs that were supposed to shut those down completely. "I guess… Colonel Rhodes is back in the tower, I can call him and ask him to bring back a StarkPad."

He didn't like the idea. If Tony had means to work he would do that instead of rest, he would exert himself until he collapsed and in his current condition that could be potentially deadly. However, when Tony looked at him again it was with a grateful gaze, his big eyes brimming with relief and emotion – if he'd never been conditioned by his father to keep all of that feeling inside, Bruce thought Tony would probably break down and cry for hours. Some part of him hoped his friend would be able to break that dam now and just let him comfort him through tears, somehow he thought it would be easier than dealing with the lack of them – sometimes tearing down the dam was necessary.

"If I do that," He started, his voice cautious and his eyes readily searching for changes in Tony's expression, "I need you to promise – and Tony, I mean honestly and with full intent to follow through, no take backs or regrets – I need you to promise you will rest, and take the painkillers. Too much pain is no less dangerous than bleeding, and I can't stress enough how important it is that you sleep well." He watched as the light in Tony's eyes shut off, then the tension in his shoulders became a helpless slump. He wanted to comfort him and didn't know how. "We want you to feel better soon, we want you to be safe." He whispered, "me, Steve… everyone.

Tony jumped a little at the last few words, meeting Bruce's eyes. His expression was, not exactly unreadable… but a turmoil of emotions that could not be distinguished.

"Bruce… I…" he breathed in heavily, then exhaled as if trying to avoid another attack. Their hands found each other and Bruce squeezed Tony's reassuringly. "I promise, thank you."

Bruce nodded and sympathetically grimaced when Tony took his hand away and turned to hide a pained sound that threatened to burst from his lips, he suggested again that another dose of pain medicine would help, and almost promised Tony would not suffer from nightmares if he took some. Tony did not turn back to look at him at all, but shook his head. Bruce thought he somehow looked even smaller than usual, and the image got stuck in his head.

"Just… call Rhodey, ok? Tell him to feed the boys- the _bots,_ I haven't oiled Butterfingers in a while and he gets… you know, bitchy. I think. And… and get him to take the Spyder out for a spin. She needs the exercise…" he was rumbling again, about the bots and about his cars and then about Pepper and Happy and SI Board of Directors. He seemed distant and distracted, Bruce wasn't sure if Tony even knew he was even there anymore.

When he touched his shoulder – barely touched, hovered a hand over more like, his suspicion on the matter was confirmed. Tony's head shot back and turned to look at him immediately, his eyes wild with terror Bruce didn't think he'd ever see in his friend's eyes. The terror calmed down after just a moment, maybe after recognizing his friend, but to Bruce's own horror – it still remained there, ready to leap back out at the first sign of danger.

"B-Bruce… Just…" the words drifted out of his mouth with shallow breaths as his eyes closed. "I can't go to sleep, Bruce… Just call Rhodey? Please, just call Rhodey."

 When he shut down again, muttering and rambling on and on Bruce decided to just let it go. He made sure once again that all the machines were properly hooked and attached, and that all the wounds were clean and freshly bandaged to his satisfaction. Tony was shaking under his hands the whole time, keeping his eyes fixated on Bruce as if to convince himself that he wasn't anyone else. He also kept talking without so much as a break to breath, only inhaling once every few moments as if trying to keep sleep away with the mere power of gibberish rambling.

"I'm going to send in the nurses so they can care for you, is that okay, Tony?" he says quietly glancing at his exhausted friend who probably didn't want anyone to come into contact with him, much less to be treated as an invalid who cannot do those things for himself, Bruce sees the frown forming on the side of his mouth but then Tony surprised him; he took a breath and closed his eyes and muttered a word of agreement.

So Bruce left him, and as he walked out Tony was suddenly completely silent, only the machines attached to him are still proving he is even alive with a loud beeping noise every few seconds. Bruce was no longer sure that is a good enough indication.

When he got out of the room he didn't call Rhodes. He would – eventually. But there was something else on his mind at the moment, more important than taking Tony's cars for a spin, all that could wait.

He called over Ms. Song and let her know Tony was available to the nurses now. He asked her to try convincing him he needed sleep and pain relief – and to be gentle, not do anything that Tony vetoed. He didn't want his friend to be needlessly stressed further.

Afterwards, he found Steve standing in the seating area, looking sternly at the window. The man didn't even turn to greet him when he came close but crossed his hands – somewhat defensive, Bruce thought – under his chest.

"I think Tony is having nightmares." He shared quietly, "Specifically, nightmares about you. Might be waking hallucinations as well. Do you have a theory as to what might be causing that?" he kept his voice low, tried not to sound accusing – because this is not about blame. If Steve was really the trigger to Tony's panic, there must be an explanation that can make sense. As awful as it may be – Bruce had to endure hearing it, for the sake of Tony, Steve and the rest of the team.

Steve lifted his head and stared longingly out of the window, following a cloud of ash and smoke trailing out of the destroyed portion of Manhattan. "I'm not the one with a medical degree, Dr. Banner." He said, "I assume, between the two of us, you are the one more qualified to give a diagnosis." Bruce knew he failed at keeping his voice blameless, he bit inside his mouth and coughed a bit.

"No diagnosis, Steve. Just your opinion." He says quietly, "You were there, and if I can judge by your reactions to anything Tony related in the last few hours, you also saw what happened to him." Steve turns his head now, teeth bared in barely restrained anger. Bruce could feel the turmoil of excitement from The Other Guy, and could only beg to any deity he can think of not to change just right now. "no need to get mad, Cap. I may not be a Red Room spy, but you are not very subtle either." He hurried to say, and Steve seemingly calmed a little, even if his brows were still scrunched in a stern frown.

"My teammate got hurt, Bruce. How am I supposed to react?" he asked with an exhale of pent-up air. "Tony didn't tell you anything?" Bruce almost got dizzy by the change of attitude that suddenly overtook Steve. His arms were no longer crossed and he was standing straighter, looking directly at Bruce.

"Tony got hurt before-" he paused, realizing how idiotic the phrase coming out of his mouth actually was. Tony was never hurt like he was now, this was different. "I… god, Steve. I don't think he fully realized yet what happened. I think he… he believes it was a dream, and for some reason, you are somehow the main star of that nightmare that plagues him. I won't… pressure you into talking. If you do want to talk it doesn't have to be me – it can be Nat or Sam. He is a therapist, right? He'd be the better choice anyway." He is deflecting – he knows. Inside his head, The Other Guy is calling him out. 'Puny Banner', the Hulk sneers at him, and yes. That he is.

"Go home and rest, Steve." He finally said, too tired to continue the conversation, too exhausted from worrying. he sees the reluctance in Steve's eyes, and can't find the energy to fight. Puny Banner.

Without another word he leaves, hoping Steve would take his honest advice and do the same.

He knows Steve understands he should not go to Tony's room again, he knows he understands Tony would not be able to bear the sight of him – and that it's not his fault, or Tony's. he just hopes the man's stubbornness would not compel him to try to change things on his own.

He calls Doctor Garcia on the way to the tower, asking her to keep an eye if she can. Then he rings up Rhodes, letting him know he was coming to sleep at the tower. Rhodes asks if he can pick up some takeout on the way, clearly withholding his many questions about his friend's condition until Bruce is rested and fed, and Bruce is grateful.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bruce is so tired he just keeps on missing all the signs. that being said, if this Steve could convince the entire US to trust him you can be sure he can manipulate puny Banner.
> 
> so yet again, Tony is alone, Steve is there. suffering inbound!
> 
> Edit: Oh yeah btw!!  
> You can find me on Tumblr and on Twitter @Narukyuu, I am a lonely person who likes to answer questions so if you have one or a hundred about any of my current or future fics, you are more than welcome to ask! I might even provide spoilers.


	7. Coffee and Donuts

Everyone returned to the tower at some point during the night, in the morning each of the Avengers, minus Tony and Steve could be found either snoozing away at the common area – i.e. Clint, or eating a small breakfast in the kitchen, i.e. everyone else. No one was in a conversational mood, and no one wanted to look the others in the eye.

She just watched.

At some point or another, sleep would become unavoidable. But right now something is blowing cold air at the back of her neck and is making the hair there bristle with alert and discomfort. At any other day, she'd find her way to Clint's side on the couch and wake him up for a quick session of training, or she'd have Not-Avengers-related work to do and leave. She didn't like it – staying in one place all of the time, especially when the air was heavy with emotions no one could quite place.

Well, she could. The feelings in the room were as follows: despair, woefulness, uneasiness… Rhodes, where he sat at the counter and barely touched his sandwich – had fatigue and resentment written all over him, and heartbreak was… surrounding him like an aura. With Bruce, it was a worried stiffness, accompanied with dull anguish, incompetence and, of course, the ever underlying anger that terrified even her.

Clint was awake now, but he pretended to sleep yet. His shame radiated through the room with his uncharacteristic silence.

Thor was the only one who'd been talking that entire time, his voice was gentle and not booming like usual – even he looked deeply disturbed and a bit lost. She tuned in to the conversation – a telling of an ancient Asgardian tale Thor hoped would give the others some profound message that would make it all better. It was a nice story, telling of the Dwarves and their mighty forges in Nidavellir. Clearly, in honor of their own Blacksmith/Mechanic, he recounted the many mighty weapons made at their forges, including his own Mjolnir, and wondered aloud if perhaps Tony would like to see those forges when he got better.

Rhodes answered that a vacation would be nice, his voice breaking somewhere along the line when he jokingly tried to ask if he could join.

She couldn't stay there anymore, not after hearing that.

she got up, ignored Clint's voice when he called her from the couch after finally deciding to get up, and she walked away.

She didn't expect herself to end up in the hospital with a carton full of donuts in a bag carried by her casted hand, and three cups of coffee in her healthy one, plus an extreme case of nausea from hospital smells; it wasn't the place where she wanted to be, yet her legs just carried her there. She didn't like feeling so out of control, she didn't imagine any of the others felt any better.

She wasn't even sure why she bought the third coffee – Tony couldn't drink it. Again, an action is done out of impulse and without planning. She guessed Steve would appreciate two servings, and the donuts would wait until Tony could eat them – otherwise, the betrayed puppy-eyes would haunt both her and Steve until the end of eternity.

She found Steve standing outside Tony's room, at first glance he looked tired – but okay, but as she got closer she caught glimpses of mussed hair, a split lip and a little bruise on the cheek turned away from her, she went to his side, leaned on the wall and handed him one of the cups. If he wanted to talk – he'd talk. In the meantime she looked around, finding several spots where the struggle was evident, and the worry started to gnaw at her after all.  

"An attack?" she asked, not turning to Steve, just waiting to hear the news as he would deliver them. She was trying lately – after being proven wrong a few times – not to jump to quick conclusions. At that moment it wasn't really working. "Was it Hydra?"

A muscle tensed in Steve's throat as he turned to look at her. "...a security guy, and a nurse. A big nurse." He muttered before sipping at his coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste of it. Natasha wasn't sure if she should have thought it was funny or not but smirked with amusement anyway.

"You do know Tony doesn't actually need you to be there when he is getting a sponge bath, right?" she said, turning her body halfway to him, and then frowned when he grimaced again at her words.

"Tony doesn't want me to be there." He says, and his frown deepens. "Nat, he can't bear looking at me at all."

It was her turn to frown now. Bruce had been reluctant to speak about what happened much like the rest of them but did inform them of what happened with Steve in the room, how Tony asked that he leaves as soon as he woke up. He looked disturbed by that request from Tony but did not elaborate as to why he thought that happened, letting each of them dwell on the information on their own, probably driven by the guilt of exposing them to the true nature of the assault Tony endured without the man's own consent.

She didn't rush to a conclusion – Tony and Steve had an excellent working relationship, but privately they were a couple of bickering old ladies who could not seem to decide what they should argue about next – yet always finding something. There was a lot of unresolved tension between them, and sure – she could see it grow in one way or another into different things. For Steve that change seemed to have triggered already, maybe for Tony it did not - or did, but in a different way?

"Whatever happened back there…" she heard herself, eventually "it was bad for Tony, it wasn't a positive or proud moment in his life. And Steve – you were there." Her coffee turned lukewarm already, she sipped from it anyway. "I don't know what happened, exactly. I can't rush to conclusions on fragments of information. But I do know that Tony – he always had you as a part of his life. And… whatever happened, it included you see him at his weakest. And for him, that might have been an even worse experience than actually getting assaulted." She paused, surveying Steve who remained pretty much frozen in the same position and the same expression, before loosening just a bit when he felt her eyes on him.

"You have to give him time." She concluded, "and yourself, too. I'm here if you need to talk, just call." She then moved past him and into the room, leaving him outside to think about what she said.

 

Tony didn't sleep the entire night.

After Bruce left, a couple of nurses came into the room to care for him, they talked with each other cheerfully, and asked Tony some questions – both medical and ones pertaining to his Iron Man or Tony Stark persona, positively delighted when he answered fully and to the point, fulfilling fantasies with short anecdotes about his adventures as an Avenger and funny stories about other celebrities he'd met, most of it was half-truths combined with small white lies to make them more exciting.

It was a nice little break from dark thoughts and hallucinations he knew were lurking back inside his head, it kept away the nagging little thought about maybe still not having awakened from his sleep. Being able to answer the nurses' questions put him at ease, at least somewhat. He could recall memories, numbers, and equations. Numbers and words didn't mingle or got confused, memories were not erratic or fogged before the attack and those after it might not have been vivid, but did exist.

One nurse smiled at him and said that was good, it meant his head was not badly hurt and was already healing the damage. He would be back to his fancy parties and inventions soon enough, he would be back being a superhero and a role model for their kids, soon enough.

The nurse who said the last line smiled warmly and winked at him, exposing Tony's embarrassment at the kind words, she was cleaning him before another nurse was changing his sheets, all was done efficiently and gently, and Tony was tempted to ask if they could receive tips for their great service.

After they left, Tony remained alone. They explained someone would come by sometime later to check up on him and give him the pain meds Bruce had prescribed, and he saved up his defiance to taking those meds for later. The pain was good right now, strong, vivid pain was the only thing keeping him from falling asleep and dreaming again, so it was good.

When Steve came into the room just moments after the nurses left, Tony controlled himself if only barely. He kept breathing the air provided to him at a moderate pace, focused on the burning pain in his throat and chest and everywhere else to remind himself that waking-time Steve was different from sleep-time Steve, and as long as pain was present, and the ability to recite Pi in his mind was not completely gone, this was fine. He was awake, and Steve was just Steve.

So he smiled, and was about to call Steve by some nickname to get him to come over, he wanted to apologize for his little freak-out, get over that one particular barricade on the way to recovery. His words died in his throat all too soon.

Steve was by his side too quickly, overwhelming Tony out of anything he meant to say. He was staring at him, his body language tense – not that it ever been not-tense – and out of nowhere asked: "Do you love me?"

A wave of panic tore through Tony as he momentarily stopped breathing again. "What…" he breathed deeply and blinked before he saw Steve's hand move toward his face, and immediately retreated from it almost unconsciously, his eyes moving from the outreaching hand to Steve's now frowning face. His breathing was suffering from the shocked state the question placed him in, and the words nagged at his mind and chased away any other sobering thought he managed to stack in there before.

For a moment he almost thought he somehow fell asleep again – but the pain in his chest was so real, so how could he be asleep and yet feel that?

Steve gritted his teeth together and his hand moved again to gain a hold on Tony's jaw, cupping his face to make him look into the blue eyes he was once sure belonged to an ally, but not so much anymore. "Do you, Tony?"

Not a dream. It was not a dream.

Tony replayed in his mind the last time Steve stood over him like that. 'I thought you'd be dead… that's why I did it…' those words seemed too morbid to be real, too gross to have come from between the lips of who he considered an ally, a friend… perhaps a role-model, even if he'd never admitted it – how could it be real, how could the act the words referenced to be real – but it _was_. Because if this was real, then all that came before was too. It wasn't just his head playing tricks on him… he preferred that it would be, he hoped to be proven wrong, for once in his life. Just about this, just about Steve.

Steve lost his patience with Tony's lack of answer and let go, straightening his back as his eyes thinned, catching Tony's gaze like a spider does a fly. Then a chuckle left his lips – despite the lack of change in his features.

"I… truly thought this would be different. But you could never see, could you?" he muttered, a bark of laughter rolling out of his mouth as he crossed his arms across his chest, while Tony was still lying motionless, scared to move in the wrong way and provoking Steve to touch him again.

Tony tried to keep himself from falling into panic again, reached to a different mindset - not of fear but of anger instead. If he could keep calm and talk his way out of this, he could reach the next Avenger who came into the room and tell them… try to hope they believe him. He just needed to get through this.

His stare followed as Steve walked around the room, fully aware that if the man chose to attack again, there'd be nothing and no one who will save him in the middle of the night. He could press the duress button again – but wouldn't that just put civilians in harm's way? Steve was willing to do all sorts of things to him as he lay dying, in the middle of a battle and with full intent for him to die as a result. Why would he care to go through a couple of friendly nurses in order to get to him and finish the job?

"It doesn't matter if you love me or not." Steve stopped dead on his feet "It doesn't matter, not anymore. You loved doing it with me, Tony. do you remember? You were just… there. And you were looking at me and pleading. I couldn't do anything else, I couldn't save you. And we both wanted it for so long, you know that." He once again came close to the bed, and Tony's heart was drumming in his chest as he tried making himself smaller, less noticeable with his legs folding and his arms crossed across his stomach.

Despite knowing that what Steve said could not be true, there was a part in his mind nagging him with memories of idolizing the super soldier, of flirting and playing along on jokes and jabs by the team about them. Getting amused and a perhaps a little happy when cheap tabloids insinuated there was more to their friendship than met the eye. And yet… from that to murderous rape was a long way, wasn't there?

He didn't speak, it seemed that Steve needed to unload some crap, and Tony hoped to find a justification he could agree with. Aliens made him do it. He was an alternative Steve from another dimension. He was brainwashed. an _evil twin_. Anything would be better than him just being the same old Steve who had raped Tony to death under a collapsed building. Anything would.

He still wanted all of it to be just a long, weird and horrible dream.

"You know it would've happened anyway." Steve finally said, again coming closer with intent to touch Tony, who at that point wanted nothing less than being touched by the man ever again and tried making that fact very evident in the expression of his face, "I would have had you even if you weren't dying, Tony, it wasn't done just out of pity. I know you are worried that it was… in a way, a parting gift for a dying man, but I would have done it either way. I really do love you. And you love me too."

The realization that he might have really fallen in love and started a relationship with this man if none of this happened hit Tony hard enough that he flinched, closed his eyes as tears started to emerge from them and shook his head. "No, you… you sick… I will _never_ …"

A finger on his chin compelled him to look back at Steve, a nudge of his oxygen mask to open his eyes.

"You will, you already do."

Tony pressed the duress button.

 

When Natasha entered the room she found Tony asleep. A nurse who sat in the room – noticeably large and even more noticeably bruised and bandaged – was going through his medical records and looked a bit bored, he accepted the offering of coffee and donuts graciously and told her he was on guard duty, making sure that Mr. Stark was not yet again triggered into another panic attack by the stubbornness of Captain America who refused to leave his side even as the man screamed that he wanted him gone and that Tony was currently under the influence of some very strong sedatives after having almost run away from his room in his panic several times during the night. He was not expected to wake up for at least a few more hours.

When she left the room, Steve was no longer there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony knows what happened but he can't actually tell anyone? oh boy. :)  
> wonder where Steve went.
> 
> Find me on Twitter and Tumblr @Narukyuu!


	8. Pizza

 A few years ago, When Sam was still in the military, Tony Stark announced he was shutting down weapons research and development at his company. A few days after that, Iron man was revealed to the world, and the man came out as the new superhero with a statement few people were able to ignore.

At that time, Sam did not think of Tony Stark as anything but what he saw on the news or read about on the internet. The man was a true celebrity, appearing in all sections of the news –  economics, with articles and columns discussing the stock market and the effects of SI's new direction on the market, or the appointment of his sweetheart as the CEO of the company. Global Affairs – on the exploits of Iron man, and later War machine, and about the shift of powers happening where they acted. Gossip – with images of the man in expensive designer suits and impeccable style, adoration clear between him and his partner, the same woman whom he appointed as CEO of his company whose intelligence and strong will was evident in all features of her face and the stance of her body, alongside articles describing his lascivious life style of excessive drinking and partying, citing a birthday party gone wrong here and some infidelity accusations there.

Sam never paid much attention to the news, especially gossip. So the picture from the scraps he did get was a self-centered man with a superiority complex who passed his obligations over to other people so he could go play a dangerous game of superhero-ing and made impulse decisions without considering who he hurt in the process. 

As a soldier, he had some resentment towards the New-Yorker billionaire turned super hero who stopped providing soldiers with the equipment that could save their lives, he potentially created more 'Riley's just through his inaction. Just for what Sam thought to be an elaborate publicity stunt by a rich, white man who could not see beyond the rim of his champagne tube.

That was his opinion until the attack on Manhattan, where he, and most of the world, witnessed the Avengers fighting for their sake against aliens, of all things. And Stark specifically, taking a nuclear warhead through a wormhole, with no guarantee that he would be able to come back alive.

 His opinion changed. He started getting interested in the exploits of the Avengers, watching Stark – the most visible and active member of the group talk in the media about his and the Avengers' agenda and goals, and reading about Colonel James Rhodes and his service to the USAF as a gifted engineer, experienced pilot, liaison to SI and finally – as War Machine. He learned that Stark continued development of non-weaponized systems for the military, with the intention of protecting the soldiers themselves as well as the people they were meant to protect, he learned that the equipment he himself used during his service was personally developed by Tony Stark himself.

Sam didn't quite imagine he would be able to work alongside the person who invented and provided the Exo-7 Falcon to the military – to him and Riley and made the both of them, well, essentially super-heroes themselves, now that he thought about it.

Then he met Steve Rogers, Captain America - which Sam could still just barely believe, and only because he'd met and fought alongside the man who was really so different from how a ten years old Sam imagined him - and was recruited into the team as a reserve member after the misadventure in Washington, forming a tight and close friendship with the Super Soldier and the Super-Spies of the group. The three – including Clint, whom he met on his first official Avengers mission after Washington - provided a familiar setting in a group of gods, monsters, and super-geniuses, turning out to be the most normal and relatable members for the former - non-super, very human - soldier, now Avenger.

It was a bizarre turn of events that led to his first meeting with Tony Stark, and by the time they finally met Sam was already engrossed with Steve, a part of _his_ team, more focused on bringing back the Winter Soldier safe and hopefully sane, than actually participate in official Avengers operations. As such, his encounters with Tony Stark were both brief and unflattering to the genius, who spent most of his spare time either running his company in sharp suits or holed up in the laboratory in pantsuits and oil stained tank-tops, creating whatever. Some of the time was also spent arguing with Steve, as the two leaders of the group seemed to have clashing sets of ideals and ideas about strategies and… pretty much everything else.

Some people on the team said this was just the pair of them flirting – but Sam saw, well… Sam experienced Steve's form of flirting, and had seen the way Stark could schmooze reporters and young fans until they all had hearts in their eyes, and from his point of view flirting was not really what he would call those interactions between the two.

Not that he knew enough about Stark to make that distinction. The others did, or at least claimed to – Sam often found himself wondering how much time any of them besides Colonel Rhodes and perhaps Doctor Banner actually spent with Tony, other than for a new upgrade for their equipment. He himself could not claim for much interaction besides that and the missions both of them participated in – and those weren't much. Other than some distant respect for the feats Stark committed in the past, Sam had no stronger feelings about the man.

That being said…

Sam snuck a peak at the man who was walking beside him. Colonel Rhodes was solemn and quiet, his head turned down in worry, despite his several attempts at making regular conversation every few minutes, always ending with a curse that would be scandalizing to hear if the man had his uniform on – which he hadn't, thankfully, because Sam was already nervous enough to accidentally salute Rhodes when they met at the tower the first time. It was one of the more embarrassing moments during the integration into the group's ranks, where Rhodes and Sam were actually on equal footing. He just knew Clint would never let it go. The Colonel had a good sense of humor as well and joined the teasing not an hour later.

There was none of that attitude present in his slumped form as they walked slowly through the street towards the hospital, Rhodes carrying a kit-bag filled with Tony's own clothes, snacks, and gadgets while Sam was… not very sure why he offered to join the trip to the hospital.

It's not that he didn't like or worry about Tony – he'd went to a local Support center to get some material about PTSD and coping with sexual assault and then promptly discarded all of it because the feeling of overstepping some invisible boundary was overwhelming him from the moment he stepped into the tower. It was dumb, being a counselor was a part of him, an important part. Helping people who had gone through something awful, as he had, as all of the Avengers have – it was something that should have come easily to him.

It was too hard to imagine a man as powerful as Tony Stark could ever actually need Sam Wilson's help.

When he saw the Colonel that morning, sitting in the tower with a cup of coffee that had long ago turned cold, his eyes haunted and shoulders slumped, and learned from Clint that the man was supposed to go meet with the CEO of Tony's company at the hospital, so they could both go and see Tony, Sam remembered with a tang of discomfort how it had felt to meet Riley's mother after… the heaviness in the air, the overwhelming feeling of guilt. Rhodes was there when Tony was shot out of the sky into a building, he saw it happen, and he had to face the people closest to Tony and explain to them what had happened and why he couldn't save him.

Sam knew the scenario all too well, and he could not identify but do nothing about it – so he offered to join the visit.

Now, as they were nearing the hospital, Sam was having second thoughts.

"Col… Jim," he started, looking Rhodes shoulders tense for a moment before his head turned to him with a raised eyebrow, he tried not to lose his cool at using the man's first name so casually. "I… uh, hope I'm not intruding." He said "I mean, on the visit…" well, cool it was not, he hoped he didn't really sound as awkward as he felt.

 Rhodes blinked at him, and the corners of his mouth perked in a pained smirk. "What are you talking about? Tony loves attention, the more the merrier." He said, shaking his head as he put his hand on Sam's shoulder in a friendly gesture. "but be prepared, Happy might start crying at some point, and it's not a pretty sight."

Then, after lifting his arm and taking it back, Rhodes looked at Sam like he was seeing him for the first time in years, and his smile turned warm. "You were a PJ in Afghanistan, right? A real hero." He nodded, almost to himself as he kept on walking, "I heard about what happened to your partner, about what you've been doing at the VA, I saw the pamphlets you got for Tony too – he won’t read them, but… thank you, regardless. For your service and otherwise."

Sam swallowed and followed in his footsteps, he tried to come up with something to say too, something that would maybe cheer the colonel up a little, make the walk to the hospital less quiet and difficult. "What is it like to be War Machine?" was the conversation starter he finally opted for, and rightfully – it seemed the subject made Rhodes light up almost immediately.

The rest of the was spent with Rhodes talking enthusiastically about what he called an 'engineering miracle', apparently the Colonel was quite the geek, and knew how to explain several functions of the suit with a lot of detail Sam didn't quite understand. It was a little better when he started to describe the weaponry, and Rhodes promised to give him a demonstration sometime, perhaps even spar with him if he felt up to it. It was a pleasant and inspiring conversation.

 

When they got to the hospital, they found Pepper – and a giant teddy bear in Iron man colors, and a two bouquets – one of the flowers and one of red, gold and silver "get well" balloons, all held awkwardly by Happy Hogan, who looked like he had not slept in a week. When Rhodey offered to relieve him of at least some of his burdens, the bodyguard shook his head and frowned in full offense.

"Nonsense, Jim. This is my job." He said, trying to balance the huge bear between his arms without losing any of the balloons or dropping the flowers. "You think the Boss will like this? Of course, he would, what am I talking about. This is right up his ally." He released a pent-up breath as Pepper pulled Rhodey into a hug, her hand on his nape forcing it close against his neck.

She didn't say a thing, but he could see the trails of tears in her makeup.

They walked to the private room Pepper had Tony transferred to – which was deserving of the name suite at the very least, in Rhodey's opinion. If not for the medical equipment littering the large and fancy room, there was really no way to distinguish it from a pretty decent hotel room.

Pepper smiled. "I don't care how much it cost, Tony should be as comfortable and relaxed as possible and we absolutely can afford it."

 The group went into the room, Rhodey managing to take the flowers away from Happy before he tripped and broke both his and the bear's necks, he noticed Sam's reluctance to coming in with them and nodded at him, hoping the man would get over it and join them, but understanding if he chose not to. Rhodey liked Sam a lot, found him quite charming in the way he was trying to keep his distance and give respect to the almost familial reunion of Tony's closest friends, and in a way Rhodey was grateful for that. He didn't push him beyond that one smile and a subtle invitation to join them.

Pepper was the first inside the room, running over to the bedside and hugging a shell-shocked looking Tony whose haunted eyes closed tightly at the first touch by his Ex, his hand slowly moving to hover above her back, not quite touching her blouse while he waited for her to move back, when she did he sat through her chiding speech in silence, smiling softly at her as she wept about the awfulness of it all and told him how much she resented that goddamn armor that could not even keep him safe. Happy soon came to his aide when he was done setting the giant teddy bear at the foot of Tony's bed, the balloons tied to its rail and the flowers watered in a vase by the window. He gave both Rhodey and Tony a small salute before softly guiding Pepper out of the room, his hand resting on her waist as they bantered quietly with each-other. They were an interesting couple, that was for sure.

Rhodey turned to look at Tony again. "Hey, chief." He said as he leaned against the bed rail, giving Tony a smile he didn't feel truly belonged on his face at the moment.

"Hey, buddy." Tony's smile was of the same kind and was soon gone. "I can't believe Pepper had to see me like this again." He sighed, "couldn't this wait until my face stopped looking like mashed potatoes?"

"wouldn't have been as entertaining." Rhodey quipped, and the smile felt more natural then. "She… we all wanted to see you, Tony. it's one of those things friends exist for, you know. To give ridiculous giant teddy bears to each other."

Tony murmured something about 'Christmas' and 'revenge'but otherwise kept quiet. The was obviously something off in the atmosphere. He knew from Bruce's frequent updates that Tony had refused to take pain medication, and had tried on several occasions to bribe a doctor into letting him go. He was jumpy, paranoid and refused to sleep, and it all had something to do with Steve Rogers.

Rhodey had a beef to settle with Captain America. He didn't like what Bruce had told him about Steve refusing to leave the room even when Tony made clear it was what he wanted, he didn't like the sort of possessiveness he recognized in those actions. He understood the need to be by Tony's side – he felt it every moment of the day, but more important were Tony's well-being and his wishes – if Tony had wanted him to go away, or If his presence created a harmful reaction Rhodey would have flown out of the country for his friend's sake, and not come back until he was cleared to.

For Steve it was different, Rhodes knew from debriefs about the Winter Soldier – both from the Avengers and the military, that Steve had been chasing a man who did not want to be found. He was relentless, convinced that he was the one person who could get his friend back from the clutches of Hydra by sheer force of stubbornness. It didn't matter much that the man, by all known reports, had long been out and on the run from both Hydra and the Avengers, wanting to keep to himself and be peaceful – Steve wanted him back, and he was determined to get him no matter what.

Well, that really didn't work for Tony, not as far as Rhodey was concerned.

"Did Bruce tell you to get me some work to do?" Tony asked suddenly, and Rhodey perked up. Bruce didn't much like the idea of Tony working while he was supposed to be resting, but Rhodey knew that not letting Tony do any work would be disastrous in terms of Tony's recovery. He would be more stressed without having anything to do with his hands, boredom would do his mind a lot more harm than good.

"Yeah," he said, grabbing his kit-bag, "but you need to keep your promise to Bruce and get a few hours of sleep every night. And take your meds, Tony. that's non-negotiable."

Tony moaned something under his breath but nodded curtly as Rhodey handed him a small box which at the press of a button expanded into a full workstation complete with a StarkPad, several tools and some half-finished prototypes Rhodey determined would not require power tools to finish building, he included the one he built himself for laughs just to watch as Tony took it apart without two thoughts about the matter.

"You built this?" he asked suddenly once the machine had turned into a bunch of scraps and bolts in his lap, barely raising his head to meet with Rhodey's half hurt-half amused eyes. "It's really good, Honeybear! It's been a while since we built something together, I didn't think I would get to see your inhumanly accurate metal-work again." Tony raised his head and smiled fondly at Rhodey, who couldn't be angry when Tony smiled at him like that.

"Yeah, well. I couldn't really figure out what it was for after I built it so…" he watched as Tony quickly reassembled the little sphere and hooked it on to the StarkPad with a cable he cannibalized from another prototype all while typing on the workstation's keyboard furiously. For the first time since Rhodey last saw him Tony's face had lit up and the tension left his shoulders and back. 

"Of course not, the program you installed wasn't meant for it-" he unhooked the cable as the metal sphere started emitting an orange-gold glow and floating a few feet above their heads.

"I watched 'Flubber' the other day and drunkenly designed my own Weebo." Tony shrugged at Rhodey's raised eyebrow. "it's more of a toy than anything useful, takes pictures, tells the time. Makes pop-culture references once I get Jarvis installed on it, I think it could be the next big thing for cat videos after the Roomba."

They looked into each other eyes, deadpan expressions lasting but a minute before they both burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, just in time for Pepper and Happy to come back and stare at them and the small metal sphere hovering above their heads in confusion. 

The rest of the visit was short but a lot more lighthearted, Tony made fun of the huge teddy bear while also hugging and refusing to let go of it because it was so soft. He was smiling brightly when Pepper talked about how the employees of the New-York offices all chipped in to buy and send gifts and flowers -apparently so many that she had to divert all the deliveries to his rooms at the tower. They agreed that everyone was to receive a nice, fat bonus with their next paycheck.

Seeing Tony like this – happy, relaxed and not so much in pain as he looked when they got there seemed too good to be true, and as with most things that seemed that way – it really was so.

Rhodey was secretly messaging back and forth with Sam while Tony was engaged in conversation about boxing with Happy, he was trying to get the man to stop being shy and come in, only to get the 'I don't want to intrude' rhetoric once again.

"It's not intruding; Tony would be happy to get even more attention."

"yeah, from his friends. I'm barely even a teammate." What a nervous wreck. Hard to believe the man was one of the most gifted banterers of the group.

"I'll tell you what, Tony counts anyone who has ever got him a good pizza in his circle of friends. He has about three hundred different delivery boys on a mailing list. You could try that." It was a joke, though Rhodey would not be surprised if Tony really did have a scholarship fund set up for poor students he met by the means of take-out delivery.

 Sam stopped answering him after that, and Rhodey thought he accidentally driven him away with the bad joke, only for Tony to exclaim half an hour later that he smelled pizza and thank them for being the best friends in the world. Apparently, Sam had taken him seriously.

The moment Sam came into the room with the pizza, Tony's eyes froze on him, and the smile left his face almost immediately. His arms tightened around the bear with his hands digging into it like they meant tearing it apart from the inside out, it almost felt like the room was shrouded in sudden darkness as if someone shut down all of the lights without actually doing so.

"Tony?" Rhodey looked at his friend, then around the room – trying to find the trigger to his sudden change of temper, the only thing that changed was Sam coming into the room.

Sam was frozen in place as well, his brow creasing in worry when he saw Tony's face change in terror, then rage.

"Rogers couldn't finish the job himself? He sent you to do it for him?!" Tony's voice was the embodiment of terror and ice, cutting in its sharpness. All the residents of the room remained frozen as they looked between Sam – whose confusion was prominent in his eyes and Tony – whose body tensed up and looked ready to either fight or flee from the room, through the window if he had to.

"Rogers? You mean Steve?" Rhodey prompted and immediately caught the hitch in Tony's breath when the name was spoken, "Tony what are you talking about?"

Rhodey looked back at Sam as Tony struggled to get his breathing back in order, the man looked scandalized and hurt and shook his head at Rhodey while mouthing that he had no idea what Tony was talking about.

"Rogers did this to me!" Tony all but screamed, startling all of them as he shook away Pepper's hand on his shoulder, "he did… and he keeps… doing it when I sleep, and now he sends his friends to do it instead! He won't stop!" Tony looked genuinely frightened, but not in a panic, not unfocused. "Make them go away, Please honey... please make him..." Tony was making himself smaller with every word, covering his head with his arms and folding his knees until he was curled into an almost perfect ball. the small sphere whirred over his head like a fussy mother, it's limited intelligence enough to recognize his distress.

Sam handed Happy the pizza, and without another look at any of them - left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sam had nothing to do with Steve's evilness, but at least now the word is out.


	9. Confrontation

In the hospital wing where Tony Stark was hospitalized, the walls were pristine white and decorated with donated artwork and comfortable chairs, it was the one part of the hospital that did not constantly smell of antiseptic, and if he was being honest – sitting in the hallway felt more like sitting in a small hotel's lobby, the coffee cart even served the fancy stuff.

No wonder Stark chose to be moved there - he couldn't just settle for a regular room like everyone else – had to have the best, fanciest commodities while everyone else was given less than adequate treatment. Sometimes he couldn't really tell if the man's behavior was endearing or plain spoiled and thus annoying as hell, this time it was very much the second option – getting to be treated in the hospital after a large disaster was a privilege, and Tony was milking his to the last drop.

Then again… the entitlement was part of Tony's nature, and Steve found that more than just endearing…. Exciting in the way it kept him on his toes and contradicted his own nature. It was a big part of the reason he knew Tony and he were meant for each other, the reason he loved him.

 "You son of a…" a voice said behind him, and Steve turned to meet the eyes of Colonel James Rhodes – the man's hands clenched at the sides of his body as he composed himself and progressed towards him, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath. "Steve," his voice was icy, causing a light shudder to pass through Steve's body before he could help himself. The use of his first name had caught him off guard, as the Colonel usually referred to him by his rank.  "You were told to keep your distance. Bruce told you, the nurses told you, _Tony_ told you. So what the _fuck_ , If I may ask, are you doing here?"

Steve made himself bigger with an inhale of air as he got up, Next to him, the Colonel – like Tony – was rather short, but he also knew how to manipulate his body to make his presence bigger and intimidating, his eyes were burning with rage and mistrust that made Steve wary – but his restraint was also telling. Tony had not yet told them any of his misconceptions about what happened – Steve suspected that he would, after the last time he called the hospital security to shoo Steve from his room. He didn't mind if Tony chose to do it, not much, but he preferred not to have to explain himself before he and Tony could reach some sort of accord about the nature of their relationship, he certainly preferred no confrontations with teammates or people who would not be able to get it.

In his disapproval of the Colonel's choice of words, Steve pursed his lips and crossed his arms across his chest. "I am here because I am worried about Tony." he said, slowly punctuation the phrase without lifting his gaze from the spot where Rhodes stood, "I am here for his sake, and for the team's sake. He is going to have to be able to see me if he ever hopes to go back to be an Avenger." And if he ever hopes to build a relationship. "he needs to contend with his panic or he will never function again."

Rhodes' eyes widened, his brow risen and creased. "It's barely been a _week_ , Rogers. And you want him to just _get over it_? Shit, Steve. What idiot ever let _you_ command soldiers?"

Steve shifted his weight, clenched his fist, he observed Rhodes face for a moment or two. It was still wearing an expression of distinct distaste. "You know that's not what I meant, Jim." He said, his voice even and calm despite the ever-growing, burning wrath in his chest. "I am worried for his wellbeing, I want to be there for him so he and I– I…" a deep breath to cool himself down before he continued – "Not being able to be near him right now, when he needs me- _us_ , to be there? I will sooner lose my mind. Jim, what if it was you in my place?"

Rhodes was chewing on his lower lip, his stance slumped a bit at the last words Steve said, and so Steve knew he hit the spot he needed to hit. Rhodes couldn't imagine a world where he and Tony were not friends – Steve could, for that matter, but that had to be taken care of later. For now, the over-protective man was at Tony's side constantly, and Steve was standing in his shadow. With less time spent with Tony, a lower rank, and now this _rape_ business keeping them apart. He was at a clear disadvantage, and his still-forming strategy was suffering for it.

"I would respect his wishes and get the hell out." Rhodes finally gritted under his breath, and Steve, judging by how the man tensed at his own words and closed his eyes to leave himself vulnerable, knew he wasn't being honest with himself, not at all.

"That's baloney, Jim-" Steve started when Rhodes interrupted him with a hand gesture.

"It's Colonel to you, Captain Rogers." Rhodes said coldly, "and as I was saying, Tony is entitled to decide if he wants a person who is triggering his attacks with their mere presence to be in the room with him, it is _his_ decision as long as he is awake and his mind is clear, and you will respect it."

The commanding tone made it clear that Rhodes was pulling rank on Steve, and despite the both of them being out of uniform and Steve not really being under the Military's command chain anymore, the interaction itself was quite enough to make him straighten his back and shift his stance, almost automatically, to Attention.

"With all due respect, Colonel…" Steve raised his chin, his eyes borrowing holes into Rhodes "From what I hear… from what I _saw_ , Tony Stark is in no way clear-minded, is he? Acts normal one second, tries to escape his room the next? Did he tell you what he thinks happened back at the crash site? Sam told me how paranoid he was yesterday when he visited." He paused for a long moment, sighing and relaxing his body. "Jim, I'm sorry. I really am – but what Tony had been through could not have left him the same as he was before. I am not a doctor, and I don't really understand much about this kind of thing – that's more of Bruce's field, but it seems awfully clear to me that Tony's mind… You have to agree he has not been the same."

The look in Rhodes' eyes changed, softened and dampened for a moment before hardening yet again, his fists were shaking in complete contrast to the rest of his steady body as he stared at Steve in silent dismay. Eventually, his fists unclenched and he crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "Tony told me all about what he _remembers_ happened back at the crash site." He said then, and Steve almost lost his footing as he finally recognized another emotion in the Colonel's eyes. Violent, unadulterated aggression. Instead, he stabilized himself, tried to keep his composure. It didn't matter, he did what he did out of love – Rhodes would understand that the rest of the Avengers would understand that he really had no other choice, there was _no time_ …

"Bruce told me he thought you had some involvement, that you were somehow forced to… to do something to him, or to watch, that you were not able to stop what was happening to him. He said Tony was… projecting what happened in his hallucinations into his reality, mixing things up." The man's hands steadied, the shakiness of his form evaporated as he took the steps required to get him one arm length away from where Steve stood. "I have no proof; I can't-do anything to you right now. So Captain… knowing that I believe that everything Tony said about you is the entire, honest truth – defend yourself to me, right now. Explain to me how you justify assaulting my best friend. You can do that, or I can go and get the evidence I need to ruin your entire fucking life."

The silence between them for the next few seconds was eerie, both sets of eyes burned into the other person with intense emotion – anger, hostility, just a tiny bit of fear… the room seemed darker around them as they each tried to keep their demeanors frozen and unyielding, refusing to break eye contact before the other person did, refusing to let another word cut the silence, as if in admittance of some offense.

Steve didn't think he would have to say this to any one before he said it to Tony, definitely not to Colonel Rhodes of all people. He assumed he would discuss it with Sam or Nat before confessing to Tony about how he felt, but that option was now thrown out of the window.

"I love Tony, Jim. I would never do anything with an intent to harm him."

 

Rhodey's hand was bleeding when he came back to the room, and hung in a weird way from his wrist, his brow creased in visible pain as he all but fell on the sofa at the edge of the room, by the window. Its soft cushions crumpled under his weight as he lay down with his back turned toward Tony's bed, not allowing his worried friend to get a glimpse of his bruised face.

Some part of him wanted to believe that the person who did this to Rhodey was not his teammate, was not the person who assaulted him, was not… waiting outside his room again. A shudder caused him to bury his face in his casted arms against his knees, not really crying – not in the ugly sort of way. For a moment he still wanted all of this to be a dream.

He listened to Rhodey's rasped breathes from across the room, the only distinguishable noise in the mess of medical equipment beeping and the TV's white noise that filled the space. Helplessness was becoming a feeling he was too familiar with, the inability to stop harm from coming to his loved ones and being the one actively causing grief to others was the legacy he was leaving behind, never able to change it. Now it was tainted further, and the only man who dared to believe him on the cause of the taint had gotten hurt, and could not even bear looking at him now.

He wanted to be able to believe Bruce, whose worry lines deepened further than what Tony thought possible - when Tony finally calmed down enough to piece together his memories of the past few nights, the blurred scenes his mind conjured when recalling the words Steve had said and the places his hands touched - explained to him quietly and slowly that while he really was assaulted – it couldn't really be Steve. Tony knew that – Steve was their teammate, a good person, Captain America…

Tony recalled the mortified look on Bruce's face at his words, the calculation the man's mind was running as he attempted to come up with a scenario that would explain this – and hallucinations were the solution he finally was given. It sparked an argument between Bruce and Rhodey – who listened in on the conversation and did not want to believe Tony, yet did anyway. The conversation was heated and nearly sent Tony into another anxiety attack when the arguments began to rely more and more on his mental capacities after being assaulted – derailing his own train of thought into a path of thinking he was not particularly fond of-of him truly being insane. That lead to him well-nigh screaming that he _wasn't_. wasn't insane, wasn't dreaming. Reciting the things Ste-Rogers said to him again and again until Bruce became disgruntled and left the room in a hurry, a green glint visible in his eye.

He hadn't been back since.

Everyone knew that it couldn't be Steve Rogers who had done it to him. Everyone knew that if the DNA they found in him matched the Super Soldier, it meant that he was coerced to do it by an unknown force, everyone knew that Steve would never do such a thing willingly, would never hurt him voluntarily. It was easier to know that Tony was remembering things wrong and piecing an impossible image out of dreams and distorted memories than believing that Steve Rogers could really be the monster he was describing.

Tony wished he'd known those things too. He wished he believed them.

A painful memory of one teenager and one young adult drinking and laughing uncontrollably while listening to – and later reenacting 40's and 50's Captain America radio skits in their dorm room, a make-shift, pizza box-made shield thrown between them as they reclaimed the hero that Tony used to think of as a tool in Howard's hands, meant only to degrade him. A night ending with warm touches and hugs and kisses reserved only for them.

That memory was tainted now. Captain America degraded him without being wielded by Howard's hands, and there was nothing left to reclaim.

After minutes or hours, Tony lifted his head and called Rhodey, who took a few seconds more on the sofa before groaning into it and murmuring something inaudible. "Come on, Sourpatch… you need someone to take a look at your hand." He said, wincing a little as his mind conjured twelve different scenarios for how Rhodey's hand ended up like it did, "I want my Honeybear whole and healthy, and you can't use War-machine with your hand like that, it would fuck up the sensors-"

Rhodey groaned again and got up, one of his eyes was swollen and was starting to bruise, Tony looked at him sympathetically. "Look at us, we match now." He quipped, trying to lighten the mood though he knew such a feat was not really possible, Rhodey looked at him now, his eyes sharp and steady and his lips set in a frown.

He sat on the chair on Tony's bedside and watched as he again called a nurse to take care of his too protective friend.

Rhodey's hand looked like he had been punching a concrete wall repeatedly for hours, but the fact was that he merely got to punch Rogers one time, may or may not have broken his nose, before being dealt an eye for an eye – only it was a human eye in return for a super-human one, and the result was not pretty.

"Not that I don't understand the urge, but Honey, what the fuck possessed you to punch Rogers?" Tony whispered as he held Rhodey's un-bandaged hand between his fingers as a cut on his brow was being glued shut, "While you are a very talented, strong, macho man, you are still a squishy human outside the War-Machine armor… Rogers is a super soldier… you… he could have killed you with one punch…" Tony realized he was sobbing more than talking then, and he stopped. Only looking at Rhodey pleadingly. He lost his dignity and humanity, he couldn't lose him too.

Rhodey stayed quiet, but the look he gave Tony was a guilty one, and his injured hand came to rest on top of Tony's on the bed rail. His eyes alternated from looking at Tony directly to finding any other spot in the room to look at. When the nurse finished treating the wounds and left, he finally spoke.

"I was going to make him confess what he did to you… threaten him into giving me proof." Rhodey said quietly, "He tried to convince me that you are crazy and that I am crazy for believing you, and then he said he _loves_ you, the manipulative piece of trash did all those things to you and then he says he loves you." Rhodey flexed his un-injured hand, his eyes turned to Tony then, uncertain, and Tony thought he wanted to ask if he maybe loved Rogers back, fear was found in the way his mouth was set, and the crinkles around his eyes and Tony felt something inside him break because he couldn't say for sure that he didn't.

"You are my Knight in an Advanced Threat Response Battle Suit, I'm going to turn War-Machine into a medieval armor next time you come to me for an upgrade." Tony squeezed on Rhodey's un-injured hand as he joked, though the both of them had averted their eyes from each other. "I… it terrifies me, but I don't think he was lying, Rhodey."

Tony felt the warmth of Rhodey's cheek against his neck when the other man hugged him, "I don't think he was, either. He… didn't deny what he did, Tony. not even once. He didn't outright say that he did it, but he didn't try to convince me of the contrary, he thinks he'd done you a favor."

They stayed that way for a while, stroking each other's backs and heads as the tender hug continued, reminiscent of something they have left in their youth, but was never completely gone from their relationship. When they finally met eyes again, Rhodey's hands resting on Tony's shoulders, both sets of eyes were damp and threatening to shed tears. Tony was shaking and his eyes drooping as his breathing became heavier. His head leaned towards the warmth and safety of Rhodey's body, which had now climbed to the bed to sit beside him, and it was the one place he knew he would be protected.

 "Whatever anyone else says, whatever shitty lies they tell themselves to justify that asshole," Rhodey breathed in heavily, his face cast in a mask of restrained rage but his hand gently stroking through Tony's hair. "I believe you. I will find proof and make him confess what he did and then I will crush his fucking head with War Machine's boot, or your Hulk-buster, maybe. I will keep you safe."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you love me and want me to be happy, give me Rhodey/Steve+Military Kink.
> 
> ANYWAY anyone else Loves Rhodey? I love Rhodey.


	10. Speculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the delay. I went on a short and unexpected vacation in Berlin (Which was really awesome but also so COLD I almost gone to sleep just to wake up 70 years later.)
> 
> If after this chapter you find yourself in need of some fluff and comfort, please give my other fics a chance ;)
> 
>  
> 
> [Men in Uniform](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8232070) (Rhodey/Steve Military kink)
> 
>  
> 
> and
> 
>  
> 
> [Popsicles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7915582) (Rhodey/Tony MIT days)

Not one soul in the hospital questioned the need for the black and gold 'Iron Man' armor standing at Tony Stark's room door at the hospital – they all walked by it with a bit of awe in their eyes, some stopping to wave at the suit or try to coax a reaction from whoever is inside, just to fall on their asses – spooked when a metallic voice warned them about breaching the perimeter not being allowed for unauthorized personnel. After a few days, it became a fixture in the ward just like any other piece of furniture. The Doctors and the nurses paid it no mind as they entered the room undisturbed, greeted by James Rhodes, Pepper Potts or Happy Hogan with welcoming smiles. It seemed that no matter the hour – the man was never alone.

There had been incidents when someone tried to enter the room despite the warning – most noticeable were any members of the Avengers who attempted it and failed, one by one. The attempts weren't violent in nature, all concerned were acutely aware of their surroundings and understood the potential risk a provoked un-manned Iron Man armor could entail. But it was dirty. They had tried diversion, they had tried negotiation – and even – at one point, one of Clint's EMP arrows to deactivate the suit. It didn't work and almost disabled the entire ward, Clint earned a zap from a stun gun by hospital security before being kicked out and warned about ever returning if he is not actually injured. They later learned that Rhodey and Tony averted disaster and fixed the damage the EMP caused themselves.

 

"You too?" Clint asks when Bruce enters to the common area of the tower, abashedly shaking his head and his eyes half closed and rimmed red after a sleepless night. "I can't believe it; Stark is seriously shutting _you_ out? Isn't that a bit of an overreaction?"

Bruce sighed deeply, not answering for a while as he looked back at all of his teammates. "It's a delicate situation, Clint… I can't say his behavior is completely unreasonable." He sat down and held his head between his hands, his shoulders shook slightly, almost unnoticeable to anyone with human-level observation skill, but to a group of super spies and super-humans, it was all too obvious how discouraged and tired the man was.

"But it is. I can understand why he would not want Steve to come in – I don't think it's the right way to handle it, but I see why he prefers that… but the rest of us? does he blame us too?" Clint's eyes shut close for a second as he breathes in, hands forming fists as he tried to remind himself the mantra Natasha recited to him the day before, same as he did for her through the years – there wasn't anything he could do, it wasn't his fault. It was hard to believe that it mattered at all If Tony thought it was.

"He doesn't blame you or anyone else, Clint. He is confused and scared…" Bruce breathed in, "He just needs some space to feel safe again."  He looks up and looks around the room, meeting eyes with each Avenger before moving on. The atmosphere of the room felt heavy as they all exchanged looks like that, helpless. "We can't be there for him if he feels we don't believe his version of what happened. I made a mistake by trying to convince him what happened didn't happen how he thinks it did, I argued instead of helping him understand… No, it's not an overreaction."

"Anyone of us would have reacted the same way, Doctor Banner. Accusing our Shield-brother of such an atrocious act should be unthinkable. I'm sure the Man of Iron would soon realize it himself." Thor supplied with a soft smile, laying a heavy hand on Bruce's shoulder, who shook his head slightly but said nothing in turn.

"We can only hope. Steve doesn't deserve to be treated like he is some kind of a sexual predator." Clint said, stretching his arms above his head and closing his eyes, "the whole situation just makes him look like someone kicked a puppy in front of his eyes for a good ninety percent of the day. It's not a nice look."

"Yeah, we know. We see you sporting it every day like a champ." Sam said dryly, unsmiling when Clint shot him a dagger-sharp glare.

Natasha ignored both of them and got up, walking a few meters away to stand by the window and look down at the bustling city-center of Manhattan. "Even considering everything that happened, Steve had been acting… weird." She said quietly, tilting her head to sneak a glance back at the team. "I guessed he was there when Tony got assaulted, I know Bruce theorized the same." She caught Bruce's subtle nod and silently returned her eyes to the window.

"It doesn't change anything, does it?" Clint said then, hands tightening on one of his arrows that he held in his hand through the conversation. "Just because he was there doesn't mean he could have stopped it from happening, and…" he paused, "Wait, you don't think…?"

"Since Shield fell no one has Steve's DNA on file. The risk that it would be stolen and used to create more super-soldiers is always there, so no one documented it." Bruce said quietly, "The sample we collected… after… it didn't match Human DNA, but it didn't match the samples we collected from the invaders either."

"It could still be anyone else. Maybe Loki came by for payback during all the chaos… he has a thing for alien invasions, and it would explain the hallucinations." Clint shrugged and grinned at Thor whose smile turned into a frown in a blink of an eye at hearing his brother's name.

"My brother died repenting for his crimes against Midgard, as you well know. I will not hear his name and memory be tarnished this way." He said with a dangerous tone, "Even he would find the act of plundering a man's body on his deathbed deplorable and beneath his honor."

"I have my doubts about that…" Clint whispered, rolling his eyes when the thunder god eyed him chidingly. "It makes more sense than anything else I can think of. It obviously wasn't Steve, and DNA says it wasn't one of the aliens, then it must have been some other enhanced human or another being altogether. We already know of three different kinds of aliens, who's to say another didn't sneak in unnoticed, right?"

Before anyone could answer Clint's inquiry, a bark of laughter caused them all - except Natasha - to startle. Looking around they found Rhodes standing by the elevator door, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder where his uninjured hand could hold and support it. His nose was noticeably broken and he had a long, jagged cut on his brow, and the black eye he sported also wasn't the prettiest image, the look on his face made even Thor flinch a little.

"That's nice. You are good friends to believe so blindly in Captain Rogers." He says, the jab clear on his sharp tongue. "any more theories about the mysterious alien who looks and sounds a lot like Steve Rogers and have not only raped Tony but had also been terrorizing him at the hospital and refusing to explain or defend any of his actions? Ooh, wait, what if… and I know it sounds crazy, but what if any of Tony's decreed team-mates got their heads out of Captain Asshole's ass and actually investigated the possibility that Tony is actually telling it like it is and has not lost his mind? Sorry, might be too outlandish. Just thought it could be a possibility."

When only stunned silence answered him, Rhodes once again laughed, his breath wheezing through his broken nose. "You all… you work so hard at making up excuses, when you have had the means to prove or disprove Tony's words for… how long now, Doctor? A couple of days at least, since you tested the SAK in the lab Tony provided you downstairs without any of the bureaucracy delaying the process."

Bruce flinched uncomfortably and Thor moved to his front as if to shield him from Rhodes' scrutiny. "your words are unnecessarily hostile, my friend." He said, "We are all looking for a satisfactory explanation-"

Rhodes snorted, "Even if you bothered checking, you will twist it any way you can to make Rogers come out in a good light. What was it? He was forced to do it by the aliens, wasn't he? Tony should probably get over it eventually, forgive him for violating him, right? Steve would _never_ do anything to hurt him, after all." He turned around. "I'm off the team, Tony is off the team, and if I ever see Roger's pasty white ass anywhere near my brother again I will bazooka his head off. Tell him that the next time you see him."

The team watched Rhodes walk to the door silently, a few of them twitching in their sits and averting their eyes from the others when looked at with inquiring eyes. Then, the alarm started blaring.

Before any of them had a chance to check what happened, Rhodey turned to face them, just barely holding a cellphone in his trembling, injured hand without it falling to the ground. The duffle-bag did fall and clashed against the floor with a deafening metallic racket. His face paled tremendously compared to a minute before that, and the Avengers paused their scrambling around for their gear and information to stare at him.

"What, what is it? Another invasion?" Sam walked to where Rhodes stood and took hold of his arm, stabilizing his shaky form. the man remained barely responsive, looking to be in shock from what-ever news he'd received on his phone. "Jim, Jim?"

He pried the phone out of Rhodes' hand and looked at it, and just as he did the alarm stopped blaring and was replaced by the relatively calmer, British-Accented voice of JARVIS.

"Alert. Model 'BumbleBee' XLII disabled. Perimeter breached. Life sign designated: 'Sir' – not found. Alert…"

On the phone screen, a similar myriad of words appeared, along with what looked like a message from Tony himself.

'I am okay, Don't search for me, don't worry about me. Will be back soon.'

 

There was no tech. no computers, no phones, not even a microwave or a fridge. Everything seemed to have been made from blocks of solid wood, no metal, no cables, nothing to take apart and put back together. The windows were sealed with glass that did not even get scratched by having a chair thrown at it repeatedly, and the door did not open, had no visible key-hole, and made any attempt at kicking it down or slamming against it until it broke look more and more ridiculous each time it caused him to fall back on his ass, squirming in pain.

He was out of breath before he tried even a quarter of those things, his legs collapsed under his weight when he tried to walk back to the room where he woke up, hoping it was just another nightmare, hoping it was all just a nightmare that he would wake up from to find Rhodey by his side.

He stayed where he fell instead, a stabbing pain attacking his body from his toes all the way up to his head, his eyes fluttering between closed and open again as he stared at the wooden ceiling, his body struggling to take in and retain enough air that would allow him to stay awake and not tumble down unconscious lane again.

He was supposed to be in the hospital, protected by JARVIS in a suit at the entrance to his room and two more veiled and hidden outside his window. He was waiting for Rhodey to come back from the tower with more work for him to do as he had already taken apart and reassembled all of the prototypes from the last time several times and was getting bored.

He couldn't remember how or when he fell asleep – Bruce had been there, outside his room, trying to convince JARVIS to let him talk to Tony, he apologized over and over and the regret in his voice almost made Tony cave and let him in,  but then he started trying to convince Jarvis that letting him come in was in Tony's best interest, and explained to him what he thought was the true nature of their predicament – It would take time but Tony would eventually have to understand, have to accept that what he thought happened was not in fact true. Bruce wasn't stupid, he knew Tony was listening and watching through the Armor's eyes.

Bruce didn't believe him, neither did any of the other Avengers. None of them would make an effort to keep Rogers away – and it was clear that they, in fact, could not. Captain America was the leader of the Avengers, the man with a plan, the symbol. Tony was never supposed to even be an Avenger; he wasn't fit for it. Narcissistic, so self-centered he was willing to rip the team apart over what might have been a dream or a misunderstanding.

Tony shut off his StarkPad and set it aside, pulling the sheet above his head so he could just barely hear Bruce gentle, soft voice anymore until it was gone, and everything else was gone too. His eyes burned – maybe he was crying; it seemed appropriate for how alone and helpless he felt.

He recalled, just barely, the sound of Jarvis' voice coming from outside the room – warning a stranger of getting too close to the door while being unauthorized to do so. Kids who came to visit the ward had made it a past time to mess with the empty suit, check its limits. Jarvis was good enough at distinguishing that sort of behavior from actual threats to his creator and could alert him if it was something serious. The AI did no such thing – but now, as Tony lay on the cold wooden floor and fought back sleep, he found himself wondering if that was because there was no danger or because the suit was simply disabled before it was possible to convey the message.

He was so tired, back at the hospital. Waiting for Rhodey to return, to get in the bed beside him and brush his hair between his fingers like he used to do back in their college days, it wasn't safe to sleep, otherwise. Even when the suits guarded his door, his mind was vulnerable and feeble and easily succumbed to nightmares.

But there he was. Waking up from sleep he didn't remember falling into. And everything was dark and silence all around him told that it was no longer the room in the hospital that accommodated him. He didn't know if it was a dream, at first. He hoped, he wished, and then the pain washed through him and stabbed into his flesh inside and out and he knew that it was not.

He called Rhodey, finding his voice brittle and weak as he pushed himself against the thin mat his body was propped on. He called Rhodey, and Jarvis – just to hear their voices and know they were okay would have been all he needed to let himself go and fall back asleep. All he got was silence and darkness. Somewhere in his mind, there was anticipation – a predictive, false sense telling him how soon a bag would be pulled away from his head, and people around him will shout at him in intangible language and hold his head straight by pulling on his hair so a camera can catch his likeness. Logically he knew that he wasn't there – he wasn't back in Afghanistan, not in a cave. He knew, logically, that calling out Pepper's name, or Yinsen's, was going to help him zilch… but he could think of nothing else to do.

Later, he'd gotten up and walked around the room, and the next room. There wasn't another room after that. He found a bare kitchen with no utensils or appliances – only cupboards filled with canned food with a tab opener. A small corner on the other side with just a single couch made of a block of wood and some cushions and attached to the floor, completely unmovable, he found some windows and was able to see clear night sky through the thick glass – uncharacteristic to the vicinity of New York.

He knew the setup of the small cabin he was held in, he had helped fund its creation. He recalled with a growing sickness in his gut how Steve had come into his lab months ago and told him of Bucky, and what he wanted to do when he found him. The idea was to create a place where the Winter Soldier could be held comfortably and discreetly while they worked out how to break Hydra's hold on him – nothing that could be used as a weapon was to be found, all the heavy furniture was reinforced and attached to the floor to prevent even someone of Steve's strength from lifting it and using it to break the door or the windows. Everything, in fact, was reinforced in steel and made to withstand even the Hulk's strength - at least for a while.

Someone of Tony's caliber of strength had no chance of even going through the wood plating. Not when he was healthy, certainly not when he was still recovering from several surgeries and was barely able to breathe well enough to walk around.

No one except him and Steve and… perhaps Wilson who was Steve's confidant in all that regarded the Winter Soldier knew about the location. Even if they did – they would not be able to break him out easily. It was all in the design… and it was such a smart design, _perfect_ in that it had no flaws he could exploit from inside, with no access to technology.

With the realization that he was imprisoned by his own project came the panic, with the panic came the frantic tries at finding a way out, and with those came pain and fatigue that staggered Tony and sent him tumbling and crashing to the floor, where he remained.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe NOW they'll believe him, hmm?


	11. Trust

The location is nice – quiet, but not too far from the city. The road is not too bumpy and his motorcycle rides on it well enough, even if the ride is not the smoothest he ever made, it's not the worst either. There are roads in Brooklyn that are more or less the same, so it's really fine by that standard.

From the outside, the cabin doesn't look like much, it was made to look run down even if still intact, the ground around colored in grayish tenor to impose a feeling of decay, meant to drive away any curious hikers. When he had asked Tony to help design it, it was one of his Ideas to implement atmospheric features to help drive away people who were not supposed to be there, a deterrent that kept on proving its effectiveness with every passing day. However, misguided tourists were not the only ones that needed to be deterred from the place, and as Steve neared the safe-house he noticed several camera sensors evaluating him for risk levels, he knew he would be flagged for his body build, Tony had designed the system to recognize super soldiers and enhanced humans, as those were Hydra's most high-level threats to a place like this.

Hydra, and the Avengers too.

He didn't like having to think of his team-mates as potential threats, but such evaluation was necessary for a situation like this. He had many times criticized Tony about his lack of forwardness towards the team, the lack of trust that they'd understand and partake in his sometimes crazy schemes. Well, now he understood what Tony meant when he said that they would not appreciate why he had to do things even if they looked a little crazy.

He wanted to do it peacefully, sit everyone down and talk about what had happened, he just wanted to do it after he and Tony had their relationship figured out – but was he ever given that opportunity? From the moment he realized he was given second chance at it, at every turn, someone was there to stop him from talking to Tony. of course, at first it might have been for the best; he was misguided. He thought Tony could not possibly be the same anymore, that his Tony was already - and should stay – dead. There still was a sliver of that thought hanging in the back of his mind, bugging him. But… he couldn't really let him go again, not without knowing, really knowing if there was anything, even the slightest reminder of Tony in there.

And they wouldn't let him find out. Tony himself was rejecting him, not willing to hear what he had to say. Bruce had contaminated their consummation with words like 'Rape' and 'Sexual assault' without actually knowing what had happened, Natasha implied that he wouldn't have done it if he had a choice - which was false, because the choice was there and he took it and couldn't find regret at doing so – they all stayed blind to the act of love that transpired, insisting instead on victimizing Tony and himself by making up a tragic story for their own comfort.

And Tony, having been fed the idea that what happened was not what had always been the only possible outcome of their eventual relationship, came up with a horrible, distorted memory. He had to disillusion him, make him see. He couldn't do it where Tony would get distracted and kept away from him. It was the only way, the only thing that mattered.

He took out a small remote from his pocket and with a flick of his wrist he shut down the security system's evaluation of him. He listened for the mechanical screech that told him of the withdrawal of several heavy artillery weapons that were hidden all around the place before stepping before a wooden panel hidden on the side of the little building, rather than the main entrance. He lay his palm against it, felt the warmth and itch of the scan that checked his features, and waited.

It was almost too easy, getting to this point. Steve may not have been a tech whiz like Tony, but he was in on the design plans from start to finish, as the facility was meant for his eventual use. Tony also had that inside knowledge which had led to a complication, because all the passcodes and biometrics had to be wiped and re-instated so he couldn't use that knowledge. It was a good thing, in that regard, that Tony had been in the hospital for as long as he was, and the rest of the team too strained after the invasion to pay close attention to what he was doing when he went down to the lab and acquired the necessary equipment, uninterrupted by the sulking bots in their charging cradles, or Jarvis, who only greeted him and asked how he could help.

He didn't have to wait much longer before the wooden panel moved aside and revealed the actual entrance of the building. Stepping inside, Steve's eyes squinted to adjust to the darkness as the door closed behind him with a soft, metallic thud. He'd expected, hoped even, that Tony would be awake by now, trying to piece together a plan of escape. Instead – he found him laid out on the floor, his eyes drooped and flattering between open and closed in exhaustion. The cast on one of his hands was cracked which probably meant he put some extreme pressure on it while trying to escape, and had tired himself out. it _was_ his Tony, after all.

"Aw… that doesn't look too comfortable, Tony," he said as he went to the kitchen, placing a paper bag on the counter, alerting his companion of his presence. Tony's entire body convulsed once at the sound of his voice, his eyes opened and wildly searched the darkness for the source of Steve's voice, but with normal, unenhanced eyes, that was near impossible. The sound of his breathing – already stressed before he was made aware of Steve presence, now turned erratic.

"Hush… It's okay…" Steve hurried to his side, leaving the paper bag alone for now. He put his hand on Tony's chest, tracing and stroking the edges of the round scar left after the arc reactor was removed. He hoped to soothe him, but Tony, in a rapid and dubiously intentional movement, tried to slap his hand away. He was, of course, unsuccessful.

The voices his throat produced resembled an injured, trapped woodland critter. Steve remained insistent and ignored further attempts, using his other hand to take hold of Tony's waist and pull him into an embrace that left no space for needless struggles. "Let's get you back to bed, You're still recovering…"

Tony's struggle ceased, but his erratic breath and little sobs had not. Steve felt his shirt strain and crumple where Tony grabbed at it when he lifted him in his arms, one hand supporting his back and head and another propped underneath his thighs. He was behaving well, considering his manners the past week.

"I sh-should… be in the hospital…" he muttered when Steve laid him down on his mattress. Tony's eyes dropped immediately as if he was straining to stay awake. "Please, Steve…"

Steve smiled, hearing his name said in Tony's voice was like a bunch of butterflies settled in his stomach, he thought he'd have to settle for 'Captain' or 'Rogers' for a while and mentally prepared for the pain of it, and here was Tony – pleasantly surprising him.

"Don't worry, hon…" he whispered softly, sitting down on the mattress next to Tony's tense body, who then attempted with a gasp to scurry away. Steve frowned and reached to pull him back, one hand on his slim waist enough to cause Tony to freeze completely and allow with only the slightest wounded cry for Steve to pull him back into place. "I am going to take care of you, you can trust me." He leaned in to kiss Tony's temple, brushing through his hair with his fingers to try and help Tony relax, but his muscles convulsed under his touch, tensing like those of an animal straining to escape a child's too-tight hug. "You don't need the hospital, Tony… it's not safe there. It's better here with me."

Steve couldn't tell if Tony was coughing or laughing at his words, but he felt the moisture of tears meeting his hand where it rested on Tony's cheek. "You were the one… who made me unsafe." He said quietly, closing his eyes tight when Steve wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "You… you tried to kill me…"

It wasn't _not_ true, Steve conceded to himself, yet couldn't find it himself to feel bad about it. It seemed like the right thing to do, at the time. Tony just needed to see his perspective, understand why. "I did… it would have been the merciful path to take. I am so sorry I couldn't do it… I love you, I want us to have another opportunity…"

Another cough-laugh sent Tony into a strain of retching and coughs that would have made anyone who was not familiar with 40's influenza squirm in discomfort. Steve stared at him quivering and dry-heaving, his body folding under Steve's arm. "There… won't… be…" another cough, "Steve… I will die. Please…"

He got up and left him there- exaggerating his coughing and dry heaving to make Steve believe him - to instead go to the kitchen. His chest felt constricted as he contemplated his options again. He couldn't take Tony back to the hospital, giving him any sort of machinery would result in a successful escape – because it was Tony, and he would figure it out. it would be disastrous for both of them. Steve would not be able to live with himself if Tony died out there alone. However, he couldn't leave him like this, either.

Steve remembered what an asthma attack felt like, and this looked too familiar to just dismiss out of hand. He wondered if Asthma powder like what he would have used in the past was something he could get at a pharmacy; he wasn't very knowledgeable about medicinal advancements since the serum. He made up his mind to try getting some, at least make it easier for Tony until such time that he either healed or succumbed to his ailment -Either way, Steve would be there by his side and care for him.

He filled a plastic cup with a straw lid and a cute "Captain America & Iron Man" cartoony graphic with water, chuckling at the thought of what Tony's reaction to it would have been had their relationship been as it should be, instead of fractured like this. He would have loved it – called it childish but drink out of it all the time – like those coffee mugs with the bad jokes etched on them he always used.

When he returned to the room, Tony was laying on his stomach instead of on his back like Steve left him, his hand clutching the sheet with what little strength he had. He was still dry heaving, but the coughing had stopped, and his panic seemed to have subsided. Under him, the sheets were crumpled and wet with sweat and… other bodily fluids. As he came closer Steve noticed the distressed sounds Tony produced – little sobs of shame, he presumed.

"Tony, it's okay… It's not your fault, I'm not angry. It's okay." He whispered, trying as he could to sound comforting and calm. He climbed the bed to get his arms wrapped around Tony's midsection and as he pulled him in he could smell the strong stench of piss on him, and reprimanded himself for not thinking about letting the man go to the bathroom when he first got there. Now it was too late. He let Tony's limp head rest against his chest and stroked his damp hair, whispering encouragement and promises to take better care of him, to get him back to his normal state so they can go back and be happy, have another opportunity. He knew Tony wanted that – normalcy- again, just as much as he did, he wanted to go back to what was before, what could have been.

He promised him, again, that they could have that.

Other than the miserable sounding sobs, Tony didn't respond.

 

Rhodes was frantic, and she watched him walk around, calling people on his phone and talking – cool, calm and stone-faced. She watched him relay the news to Pepper, his hands shaking and eyes closing tight when the yells of the woman breached through the speaker, intangible but clear in their pain. She heard him lay out Steve's description to whom he described as friends, people who would give a shit as the Avengers, according to him, clearly did not.

After the last phone call, Rhodes broke down. Quite literally.

He barely managed to gain support by holding to the kitchen counter and waved away any of the Avengers who rushed to his aid. Shooting vile glares at them. "If you want to help, find Rogers." He said while gritting his teeth. And they looked at him helplessly, still unable to believe that this could be possible, that he, of all people, would do this.

She could believe it. She could believe anything about anyone, at that point of her life.

She thought of the past week, of meeting Steve in the hospital, talking to him and recognizing the love-sick puppy behavior that she didn't think was that weird, really, but now bugged her. It was excessive if not out of place for him to act that way. The constant need to be by Tony's side even to the point where he caused actual harm – at the time she thought it was protectiveness due to the nature of the attack, now… possessiveness came to mind as a more fitting word. A compulsive behavior fueled by obsession.

Rhodes was right, they have been making up stories and avoiding the one explanation that made them feel uncomfortable, even if it was possible, even if it seemed probable, they just preferred not to believe it, not to believe Tony. Bruce had been, essentially, Gas-lighting him by rejecting his story and attributing it to dreams and hallucinations. It wasn't out of malice, not with the intent of abuse. She would know, she wielded psychology as a weapon as well as she did any gun or baton. But they have all done it, all participated. They didn't even try to keep Steve away, knowing that he was doing this and just letting him, based on their perception of the man – and the one person who did believe Tony, who did try to keep his abuser away, was now wearing a cast on his arm and exhibited a broken nose.

  Even if Steve didn't do what Tony thought he did, shouldn't that violence alone have turned on the warning light bulb in everyone's mind?

"Have you talked to Steve?" she asked Sam, keeping her voice casual. She hoped that he did, that she and Rhodes and Tony were all wrong about a person she worked with and placed her faith in, purely on the virtue of his story and imagery. She hoped he was on his way, just as worried about Tony as everyone else, just as eager to bring him back home safe.

Sam shook his head, clutching his hand over his phone. "He went after a hot trail for Bucky two days ago, he is never very approachable at times like that, you know." The way his brow crumpled as the words left his mouth was full of irritation that was not often found on Sam's face, not when it came to Steve. He was usually happy to accept the man's actions and support them, even stupid ones. He sometimes turned snappy about it and had that look that made her think he was judging everyone for their idiotic behavior, but more often than not – he'd join the same idiotic behavior, and have fun with it too.

"Oh? Don't you usually go with him on those trips?" she smiled softly at him, tilting her head to try and catch any discomfort he might exhibit on his face.

"Uh… yeah. Usually. I guess he just needed some time alone, you know? After that whole showdown with Colonel Rhodes. I can't say I blame him." Sam sighed, sneaking a look at the exhausted Colonel who leaned against the counter, his broken hand shaking and his face as good as made of steel. "I can't believe he still thinks Steve would do anything like that, even after we told him Steve is not even in the country right now. He is not letting up."

Natasha sneaked another look at Rhodes and found him glaring right at them. His look unsettled her, the condemnation in his eyes burrowing a hole into her, telling her how, again, she had failed to choose the right side, the good side. "Would you let up if your best friend was in that situation?" she questioned, and Sam averted his eyes from her, shaking his head. He kept quiet otherwise.

He doesn't want to hear it, none of them does, she doesn't particularly want to _say_ it. But someone has to. "We have to find Steve." She says, quietly, "We have to locate him, if there's even the slightest…" she bites her lips when she feels several more eyes on her, sees the hurt in Sam's eyes, the betrayal in everyone else's.

"Nat, come on, it’s Steve we're talking about." She turns in surprise to face Bruce, and he shakes his head grimly. "Locating Steve is a waste of resources we should be spending on finding Tony as fast as possible. Clint was right, earlier, any enhanced person with malicious intent could have been the one to do this. It could be someone with a semblance of Steve – or impersonating Steve - that registered in Tony's subconscious as the real deal, that is a viable explanation to his dreams and hallucinations. It would also explain why that person managed to get past three suits of armor equipped with Jarvis' face recognition software – Tony was obsessed with protecting himself from Steve, so that's who the suits looked out for." He breathed in and turned his eyes. "We can't let this tear us apart, we have to believe the best of our team-mates, what sort of team would we be otherwise?"

Once again, there was an eerie and uncomfortable silence in the room, interrupted only by the door slammed shut following Rhodes who left it without another word. Nobody moved to follow or stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WTF @me @PunyBanner


	12. Disillusion

Ever since Afghanistan, Tony couldn't remember how to breathe right. Having a magnet shoved deep through your sternum and a reduced lung capacity as a result would do that to you. He managed, somehow, to stay alive despite it, adjusting the way he breathed to fit his modified body, having Jarvis assist and remind him when he forgot how to, again. Somehow – his breath had been taken away from him so many times, since Afghanistan, by so many enemies. And somehow, he always managed to get it back, relearn how to breathe, and keep on living.

Now Steve had taken it away, his ability to breath and the ability to re-learn how to do it again. If he lived through this – Tony would never breathe on his own again.

He'd grown… somewhat accustomed to the oxygen mask, that past week, relished how much easier it was to breath when it was on. He didn't imagine that with it off – breathing would just be an impossibility. He knew his crushed chest had to recover for a while longer before he could actually breathe well on his own but apparently, between 'breathing well' and 'not breathing at all' there was a spectrum of pain.

Mainly headaches, chest pains and a very sore throat.

Attempts to explain that he needed whatever respiratory aid to live and therefore would not take it apart just to escape Steve's idea of a vacation home had gone through Steve's ear and came out the other side, unheeded. Despite the sympathetic, understanding looks he sometimes snuck toward Tony when he thought he wasn't seeing, Steve seemingly preferred watching him get brain damaged or die rather than provide any type of machine to help him get better if it also provided a chance at escape.

Tony did not suffer quietly. "I appreciate… your unwavering belief…" his breath caught in his throat, a chain of coughs cut his words and through his chest like a butcher's knife. "In my genius." How long did it take him to say that short sentence? He heard Steve shushing him, felt his hand stroking his aching back. "Really, Steve…" using that name… it felt so personal. Who calls their rapist and kidnapper by their first name? who lets themselves be held against their bodies and cuddled by their would-be murderers? Tony's throat was too dry to swallow, and he breathed shallowly while trying to get more words out. Steve's fingers caressed his thigh while pulling him closer into leaning against him, humming to himself a song Tony could not bring himself to recognize right away.

"I don't have any tools, don't have anything… I… I can use… to escape… I just…" he gulped down air and nearly choked, his throat felt constricted. "P-please…" Steve increased his volume the more Tony tried to talk, the more he coughed, the more he sobbed. His song started sounding angry, almost vicious, and his hand on Tony's waist tightened its grasp possessively in a way that made the air escape Tony's lungs faster than he could get it in. "Please… just… let me have just one thing, Steve. I promise I will stay, I promise…"

Tony stopped asking to go back to the hospital when Steve hit him for the first time the night before.

He wanted to think it was an accident, he wanted to think Steve had tried for a gentler motion but lost control of his own strength… but as the pain spread across his cheek, and the tears that he thought had dried already sprouted again, he decided to stop trying to make up excuses. Instead, he acknowledged the peril he was in and decided to not take unnecessary risks, not to aggravate him any more than necessary.

In Afghanistan, he held himself up. Even after seeing his chest torn open during surgery when he woke up in the middle of it, even during and after the torture of being drowned over and over, he held himself up. He endured without breaking, without letting them see him fracture and break when beaten down and abused. He did not let them see his fear, his pain or his tears.

He had kept it up, for the last few years. Fought irredeemable maniacs and outright villains on the virtue of his words alone. The cracks always kept under a considerable amount of snarky comments and jabs. It had worked every time.

But not now. Not as he was held, helpless and hurting against his team-mate, a person he considered a friend on some caliber, who had betrayed him in such a spectacular way that it made the cracks too deep to cover and hide and hope for them to mend before anyone noticed. No, now that Steve got his hands on him, creating some sorry imitation of a romantic scene depicting them curled together, sleeping or resting from a long day and relishing the quiet and serenity that should have come with it, Tony couldn't seem to lie to himself good enough.

Steve yawned beside him, cutting abruptly his amateur humming as his hand slackened a bit around Tony's waist, allowing him the slightest freedom to move his body somewhat away from Steve's warmth.

"Tony…" the reprimand didn't take long to come, followed by the silence that told of a chance to get back on his own before Steve pulled him in again, when he didn't comply, pretended not to notice – his arm was grabbed, rather than his waist, and with a tug he was dragged to sit between Steve's thick thighs, his head cradled gently by one huge hand that made sure it rested where he could listen to Steve's heart beats.

They were slow and calm, and the rhythm of them was enough to daze his mind and make his body slack. He knew what would come next, but didn't struggle anymore.

"Don't worry, Tony…" he heard Steve by his ear, "Don't worry, baby… I know it hurts but you are strong. Made of Iron." Steve's hand trailed a path across Tony's chest as he tensed at the words, unsure if Steve knew of their meaning to him. The light touch on his skin was nothing compared to how the resurfacing memories made him feel small and brittle. Steve then told him quietly of his childhood, how he coped with his sickness with no machines, no miracle medicine until the serum came along. He coped because he had to, didn't have the privilege Tony had all of his life with excellent health care and the best hospitals.

It was fine, he said - tracing the curves of Tony's lower stomach with his hand, Tony was strong. He could endure it just as well. He just had to try and be positive.

"Decreased… motor-skills… fainting…" Tony resentfully recited, for the third time that day. "Short-term memory loss… B-brain damage…" Steve pinched him, he did so several times since he brought him there as some kind of warning or an un-violent punishment, the previous times Tony stopped immediately, this time he didn't care. "increased… heart rate. Heart attack." He breathed in, Steve's musky odor present and strong in the air he inhaled, it made him feel sick - Sicker. "Coma… brain death…" he all but sobbed the words when the slight pinch turned into the scorching pain of a slap against the bare skin of his thigh. "Actual… death…" he inhaled again as Steve changed their position, propping him down on his side on the bed while Steve hovered above. His heart pounded in his chest but he didn't dare to try and move, he couldn't, not with the tension his body was under. Any additional effort would surely result in one of the outcomes he'd just listed.

"Why do you have to be like this?" Steve's voice was remorseful, deep and heavy in his ear. "Always a pessimist. Can't you at least try, Tony? for me?" Tony shook his head before feeling another pinch, afterwards he stayed completely still. He found himself wondering detachedly if Steve was aware of himself when he hurt him, if it was on purpose or just an automatic reaction. He didn't respond to Tony's whines of pain and did not seem to care for his erratic breathing patterns. Did he think Tony was faking it, still?

"I will never… do anything _for you_ again. Fuck you, rapist." He closed his eyes immediately after saying the words, readying himself for the punishment he was sure would come, the backlash backed by the rage of the delusional Super-Soldier. It was stupid of him to say it, and he couldn't stop himself regardless.

Instead, Steve's weight lifted off the bed, his body heat dissipating around Tony's form as he stood up, leaving him shaking from the cold. Tony was not able to see the expression on his face, and neither did he want to.

He heard Steve pacing around the room, then leaving it for the sake of the next room before returning once more. His breath caught in his throat as he waited for him to settle, decide on the best way to discipline him and do it. He just wished it would be over already.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" the pacing stopped with those words, followed by silence from both of the people in the room. Tony opened his eyes, the anticipation and dread not yet leaving him completely. Steve was just standing there, however. "Well? I'm sure I'm not the only one who wants to avoid a repeat of yesterday." He steadily crossed his arms as he said the words. Tony could feel his gaze going over his features, exploring them.

He was leaving. Tony felt a wave of relief followed by a tsunami of anxiety. Steve was going away and Tony would have to stay in the small building alone, barely able to walk, barely managing to breathe. And who knows when he would come back and what he would do then.

"When… are you coming back?" He asked, careful not to meet Steve's eyes as he turned his head in his direction, he tried not to sound panicked, or especially desperate to know, yet somehow his voice managed to exhibit both of those tones with a pinch of fear added for good measure.

"I wouldn't have asked you about the bathroom if I had known, Tony." Steve reprimanded, "Come on. Get up and we will get you sorted out." Steve stopped then, his arms crossed over his chest in a position that said Tony was not going to get help getting up, somewhat passive-aggressive, but he was thankful for not having to be touched by him again.

Once he was standing, his head swimming and a bout of nausea developing in his gut, Steve seized his arm again, holding him upright when he almost toppled over. Tony did not struggle and tried not to whimper when a tremble passed through him at the touch. He let himself be dragged to the bathroom – a sect of the small house locked behind a wooden panel, only unlocked by biometric identification.

When he designed that part, he had only thought of the potential of such facilities to be used in a suicide attempt. A tenant could drown themselves or exposed themselves to extremely cold water in the shower to cause hypothermia or overdose on drugs that had to be present for a case of emergency. He did not consider how dehumanizing and humiliating this would be for the tenant, to be denied access to facilities any human being had to use several times a day, except for when their… 'keeper'… was around. The more he thought about it, the more terrifying the place was to him. He designed it, he knew each feature and where it was located and how it could be used to push him further down the narrative Steve wished to impose. If he felt Tony was too uncooperative, he could shackle him in a room meant to contain the Winter Soldier through murderous fits, or simply not let him eat or use the facilities at all. Tony thought it was a bit excessive, he regretted not listening to his first instinct now.

Steve allowed him only a bit of privacy at the toilet, citing Tony's dignity as he turned his back to him, not leaving the room.

"I can't… do it while you're in here." He breathed out, "go away…"

Steve kept quiet for a moment. "You did this morning and yesterday. And it's not like you had much privacy with the nurses at the hospital."

Another shuddery, painful breath left his throat. "The nurses didn't rape me or tried to kill me."

Steve paused, the muscles of his back tightening as he tilted his head, not yet turning to face him. "You do it like this or not at all. When I come back we can fit you with diapers so you don't soil the sheets again." Came the retort, cold and cutting. "This is about building trust, Tony. You have to follow the rules. You know how this place was designed to work."

"I'm not a brainwashed Hydra asset you can 'cure', Steve… the design will not 'disillusion' me or change what you did." Steve did not turn to look at him, but he stiffened. "You raped me, you almost killed me, you hurt Rhodey… kidnapped me… Do you think telling me over and over that, you did it out of love changes anything? Do you think keeping me here would?" Steve turned to him, his blue eyes dark and his jaw gritted in anger. Tony inhaled, felt his chest constrict under the stress as the glare hit him full with murderous intent. Regardless, he said the last bit stubbornly and with added scorn. "If I _ever_ tell you I love you… congrats, asshole, the brainwashing worked."

 

The hospital room is a mess. Rhodey stood there for what seemed like hours, looking at the ruined medical equipment, broken bed and the bits of metal, jaggedly torn, dented in the form of fists. The armors, all three of them, were scattered around the room in the same way. Scorch marks tainted the once cream-colored walls…  and the window was broken. it was a mess – violent, inhuman. And all through him, Rhodey knew – it was all done by Steve Grant Rogers.

And yet, no one seemed to be able to confirm it for him.

No one had seen Captain America for the better part of the week, when he showed a picture of Steve in civilian clothes and the 'look' he used undercover, with the cap, hoodie, and sunglasses, people shrugged at him. And the question of _how_ he got past Jarvis and the suits also remained unsolved. The A.I. seemed as conflicted as him by the data being missing – an entire half hour before the alarm started was just gone, consistent with the hospital's own security records.

The hospital systems were apparently out of commission due to a large scale power outage, and while medical equipment was powered by a separate generator to save lives of patients who were dependant on it, security equipment like cameras was shut down to conserve power. For Jarvis, there was no such convenient excuse. There were a few options that could explain it, but each seemed less plausible than its predecessor.

First, it could be a malfunction. A glitch. Rhodey was sure, about 99.9% sure to be exact that it wasn't that. Jarvis was in charge of so many of Tony's assets and facilities and had so many backups ready to replace him if anything was wrong, that such disparity in time without any alert was simply not possible.

Next, an EMP could have shut down the suits. It'd have to be military grade, and capable of taking down an arc reactor, and those were rather rare and big. And again, Jarvis would have been able to alert him to it before it became an issue.

And Rhodey's least favorite theory was the authorized override codes. Least favorite, and most probable.

"Hey, Jarv…," he said, pressing a button on his ear piece, "who has permission to use your override codes currently?" he bit his tongue as he waited for the dreaded answer, his mind rushing through different scenarios of what else could it be, who else could have done this. He listed Tony's adversaries, tried to find one who had not been in jail right now and had the strength to pick apart the metal suits and turn them into a pile of scraps in under 30 minutes.

"Sir has entrusted the codes to three people besides himself." The A.I. finally cut his tension. "Ms. Potts, Captain Rogers, and yourself, Colonel."

Rhodey gritted his teeth. "Why is captain rogers on this list, Jarvis?" he may have sounded angrier than he should have. None of this was the A.I.'s fault.

"Sir believed the Avengers needed a way to shut me down in a case of emergency, or in the case of his unavailability. At the time, he believed Captain Rogers would be the most qualified and reliable member to entrust with the task." Jarvis voice was as cool and even as it ever been, but, and perhaps Rhodey imagined it, it felt full of scorn. "Unfortunately, Sir is the only person allowed to change the codes, and his security measures did not permit me to replace the codes upon learning of the Captain's misconduct. As some of the identification methods require biometric identification, such changes cannot be performed remotely."

Tony chooses to trust someone, they betray him. He chooses to trust only himself – and gets burnt. Rhodey clenched his fists around another piece of metal. Every choice Tony made seemed to turn out to be a loss for him, and he always made those choices anyway.

Tony knew the suits would not stop Rogers if he wanted to get in, and then he still let Rhodey leave him at the hospital alone, trusting he would be protected by them.

Or maybe he just accepted that he'd never be safe.

"I am… sorry, Jarvis." He whispered as he lowered his hand and held close a scrap of golden metal. "I disappointed him again, I let him be betrayed and hurt and taken away again."

He was answered by silence and closed his eyes as the tears started to fall, biting his lips as the salt in them seared in the cuts remaining from Rogers' fist. He didn't open them even when he felt one delicate hand on his shoulder, thinking it to be one of the nurses who noticed him standing alone in the ruined, restricted room.

"You found him then, you will again." Natasha's voice whispered, prompting him to open his eyes and look at her, setting his jaw in a frown but not bothering to wipe his eyes. "And this time you will have help. I am sorry for not believing, Jim."

She handed him the small metal ball that he himself assembled just days before, lit up with an orange glow once Rhodey touched it. A panel on it opened to reveal a small, grainy screen which played a set of pictures, over and over again.

The pictures of the fight that had taken place were a blurry mess, and it was almost impossible to see the human participant in it. The fact that they were wearing a cowl wasn't helping much either. After the armors were down, he made a special effort at tearing them down before heading to the bed where Tony was somehow, unnaturally sleeping still, and worked on slowly and delicately unhooking and detaching every piece of medical equipment, before thrashing those as well.

"It's him." She supplied as Rhodey sat through it, watching the pictures change like an extremely slow, excruciating movie. "I worked with Steve undercover - he is very bad at it… changing his posture, his mannerisms. Someone else would not recognize it, maybe. But I am a professional. It's him."

They both watch as the figure leans in, his hand tracing lines across Tony's sleeping form as his head descended nearer and his hand cradled Tony's head to lift it and close the distance… Rhodey shoved the ball back into Natasha's hand and wiped his tears.

"I am not the one who needs evidence to believe in my best friend, Nat." he said quietly, "unless there's something in there that can point me to Rogers so I can blow off his head, I don't need to see it, your team does."

Natasha sat next to him on the floor, her hand fumbling with the little ball which made a purring sound and vibrated under her fingers. "At this point, they might not believe this, either." She said quietly. "I think they know it's true, on some level. Bruce does at least. But they don't want to believe, I don't want to believe it, even now. I worked with him, he is a symbol... to them, nothing might change that."

Rhodey kept quiet, his healthy hand turned into a fist. "It's just the three of us, then." He raised his hand to his ear-piece. "War machine, activate. Jarvis, are appearances by Steve Rogers listed on my navigation systems?" he nodded to himself as the A.I. confirmed, and turned to Natasha. "we are going hunting, War machine will be patrolling and gathering data. I will be driving to places where the likeness of Rogers was sighted. You… either come with me or try to make your dumb-ass teammates stop chasing aliens.  
"I _will_ find him, with or without their help - but it would be appreciated."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go Rhodey!!
> 
> Next chapter might get graphic.


	13. Words

Bruce was on the verge. He had been for several days now. Always looking over his shoulder and dreading the moment someone would come up behind him and spook him bad enough for him to unravel. He was waiting for a disaster to happen, hovered by the hulk-proof chambers Tony had created just to accommodate him in an hour of need, and suppressed it. It wasn't time, there wasn't time for him to lose control. Every single tick unnerved him, and there were so many of them lately.

"Jarvis, you _do_ want us to find Tony, don't you?" he sighed as another one of his queries was shut down by the A.I. before completing its task. His hands clutched tightly into a fist on the surface of the table as he looked directly into what he knew was a camera sensor for the A.I. that had been giving him any sort of trouble imaginable for the last few hours.

"Of course, Doctor Banner. Which is why I am saving you time by shutting down any operation unnecessary for locating Sir and directing resources to essential queries instead." Jarvis voice was it's usual, British accented, even voice.

"That's not efficient if you close down every single one I open!" Bruce hit the table with his fist, feeling the strain of the hulk fighting to come out and tear the thing apart through his body, and once again – suppressed it.

"Shall I prepare one of the Hulk-caves for your arrival, Doctor Banner?" the A.I. asked in a kindly tone, using Tony's name for the safe rooms they designed for the hulk. Bruce clenched his teeth and shook his head.

"There's no time for that. Just… what are you running, if not my queries?" he poked the hologram of a process in order to view it, only to be greeted by a blaring alarm telling him his access had been restricted. The Hulk roared in his head. How dare they? He should smash it, destroy it. It was hurting the metal man.

"This query has been made by Ms. Romanoff for her own investigation into the matter, I'm afraid I cannot divulge any further information without her permission."

 "That's… it's to locate Steve, isn't it?" he sighed and pulled on his hair in frustration. "Jarvis, it won't do anything. Steve is out of the country."

"I'm afraid I cannot provide any further information." Jarvis repeated stubbornly. "Any further attempts to access those files will restrict your access to my services, Doctor Banner." Bruce pounded the desk with his fist hard enough that the glass coating on it cracked and a low, rumbling growl found its way out of his throat. "Doctor Banner, I strongly advise that you step into the restraining chamber and calm down."

Bruce trembled with rage or with frustration at his inherent inability to do a thing to help the actual search. He kept going through Tony's injuries in his mind – none of them even close to healing at the point he was taken away, the different types of medicine the man should be getting, the pain he must be in… pain that over the counter drugs could do nothing about. For moments, he hoped that whoever took him either meant to kill him or had at least a little medical expertise and access to hospital grade medicine, would somehow, in any way, not let Tony be tortured by his own body as Bruce knew he could be. He breathed in, looked at the greening skin of his hand – and suppressed it.

"Soon, big guy… When we find him you can come out and smash as much as you want," he muttered, his entire body going numb as exhaustion replaced rage. "Jarvis, what _can_ you tell me? Have you run any other queries on your own? Please tell me."

"Of course, Doctor Banner." The A.I. said and suddenly the entire room lit up, holograms of maps and pictures of the entire area affected by the invasion, another of the building that collapsed on top of Tony, and then another one of the hospital were Tony was for the past days since then. A list of visitors and visiting hours as well as any doctor and nurse to have entered Tony's room and had been cleared to do so while the suits were on guard also floated in front of Bruce's face. In the corner of the room, a miniature re-enactment of the fight outside of Tony's room just before he disappeared was looping mutely. "for your consideration, Doctor Banner."

Three hours later, Bruce turned green – sickly green, rather than the other kind. He stared at the hologram re-enactment, the figure in a mask throwing a gas grenade into the ward and forcing all of the residents to leave the premises or lose consciousness before stepping up to face one, and then suddenly two more Iron man suits. He watched as the man managed to disable one of the suits by ripping out the arc reactor with just his gloved hand before getting thrown into the room Tony was in, followed by the suits which he then disassembled deliberately and cruelly with only little struggle. About in the middle of the ripping apart of the last suit – the scene stopped with a screech, only to then loop back to the beginning to start anew.

Not many people were able to take on the Iron man suits, even unmanned. Whoever that person was, he was a lot more dangerous that he anticipated. Strong – yes, but also very determined in his quest to take Tony away, no matter the stakes. "I take it we have nothing on this psycho, Jarvis?"

Jarvis remained silent for a moment or so, which was weird. Like he was thinking about his answer. "That information is within a file you are not granted access to, Doctor Banner." he finally said, "I have determined from previous interactions between you and the team that revealing this information to you will not benefit Sir's safety and may in fact harm it."

"There are times I wish you had a real body so I can strangle you." Bruce grits under his breath. "I'm doing it, all of it, to help Tony! we are all doing whatever we can! But we can't do the best we can if you don't trust us!"

"Why should he trust you with Tony's safety, Banner? You said yourself you would not 'Tear apart the team' over it." Colonel Rhodes voice suddenly interjected from all around him. "The information Jarvis is withholding from the team is information they will choose to ignore and dismiss for their own selfishness, you are so obvious, a computer, a very smart computer of course, but one nonetheless, sees through your bullshit."

Bruce took in a deep and long breath to sooth the boiling rage that flooded his mind.

"If you found anything that could imply Steve was-"

"…Bruce. Wasn't the hologram enough? Haven't you ever watched Rogers spar?" it was Natasha's voice that answered him now, but he could still hear Rhodes muttering about it being useless in the background. "Look again, bring in Clint to take a look. It's the same brawler style Rogers uses when he fights without his shield, it's the same body type. There are still pictures too, I'll send them to you if you want an actual look at what was happening." She somehow almost sounded desperate in a weird and unsettling way. "Please, if you really want to help Tony, stop repressing what your gut tells you, stop wasting time."

 

Steve found himself standing above Tony, who was curled up on the floor with one arm slung over his head as a flimsy shield and the other, the one Steve recalled had to go through a long surgery just to be reconstructed after being smashed useless under the debris, was held too tightly in his own hand. He released it, watching Tony who grunted as he pulled to cradle it against his chest as the cast on it crumbled. Had he gotten this angry over a few _words?_ No, that wasn't it. It wasn't just anger he felt when he heard the words Tony thoughtlessly spewed from his venomous mouth. The man played him, brought up Bucky and the brainwash knowing full well how he felt about it.

Tony flinched when he kneeled next to him and put his hand on the man's back, gasped a little when he stroked it comfortingly. "I'm sorry, Tony… I didn't mean to hurt you." He did, otherwise it wouldn't have happened. Steve obviously had much better control of his emotions than Tony did, he did not just lose his temper because of some petty manipulation. "I am sure you didn't mean what you said, either. We both know how I feel about it, about Bucky. He is suffering enough without you using him to hurt me for the sake of your delusions."

Tony didn't utter a word, his jaw was set and teeth gritted, and his body trembled – probably due to how cold the floor was against his bare skin. So, Steve lifted and cradled him against his chest, for warmth, and to show him that he was forgiven.

He didn't really deserve it, with the way he was talking about Steve and about their relationship before, but Steve wanted him to be comfortable and in as little pain as possible, so before he left the bathroom he snagged a bottle of pain-killers from the medicine cabinet. At the very least – it would help Tony sleep until he came back.

Tony, still silent, his eyes still wandering and unfocused, took the pills he allotted him without a complaint and drank the water he brought for him to wash them down, he didn't try to push Steve off when he leaned to kiss his cheek – so he went further, tasting the bitterness on his lips and inhaling his scent drunkenly. He delighted in the lack of resistance, in the pliant and soft attitude Tony adopted, a sure sign that he finally began to understand, or that he was really sorry for his words, or both – perhaps. Steve allowed himself to hope.

They separated when Tony gasped for breath, his eyes opening too wide and too suddenly as he turned and coughed, his healthy hand rushing to his neck. Perhaps signaling to Steve that his limit was reached, but still not wanting to use his words. Between remorse and a silent treatment - it started to look more and more like the second option but Steve was willing to grant Tony the benefit of the doubt after sharing such an intimate moment.

 Before leaving, Steve let Tony have another one of the pills and made sure he had water with him before tucking him in under the covers, making sure he was warm and comfortable before kissing him just once more on the lips, getting a small, indistinguishable noise in return.

Steve smiled as he left the facility, thinking back to all those horrible things Tony had said before, he could understand how Tony, as insecure in general, but probably particularly about the relationship Steve was trying to build with him, would become antagonized. It was okay – not a setback of any kind. They would get through this phase and mutual understanding would prevail. The road from there to a loving, clichéd relationship that no one could challenge with their ugly lies was just a step further down that road.

It was good. He managed to get Tony out of that hospital, out of the grasp of people who would have him believing something was wrong with what he and Steve shared, away from the people who couldn't protect and save him when he was dying under the collapsed building – that was Steve. He found him, he moved the debris and handled the wounds as best as he could under the circumstances, he called for help. He deserved to be happy with the person his heart chose, who was essentially made for him.

Despite what Tony said, Steve knew better. He knew Tony _already_ loved him, and that didn't change. That kind of feeling didn't weaken or disappear; not really.

"Steve!" The voice that startled him came from behind him when he parked his motorcycle next to a pharmacy, he recognized it but did not turn to meet Sam's eyes as he removed the helmet from his head, waiting for his friend to land behind him. "I thought you were looking for Bucky, man. What is going on?"

"I was, the trail was a bust." He said, tilting his head to peek at the man walking slowly towards him, and tensed when he felt the hand on his shoulder. "what is going on, Sam?" He asked severely at seeing his friend's face laced with worry.

"We couldn't reach you- Tony is missing, someone took him from his hospital bed." He said, hand tightening on Steve's shoulder in camaraderie. "It's a whole mess. The team is torn apart, Rhodes still thinks you did it, nothing we said reached him. I…" he looked at Steve with soft eyes, "I am so sorry, but I have to ask, Steve…"

Steve nodded and turned to face him, putting himself in a better vantage point. He noted the stun guns, knives and ammunition on Sam's person and began to form his plan of escape in his mind. It was stupid of him to go so publicly into town, knowing the Avengers had means to find and track him within the city. He was caught in his blissed state and thoughts of Tony, and didn't realize that he was followed. He was not going to repeat the mistake.

"Steve... god, man, you know I hate this, right? I trust you and it's been a tough time, especially for you. We are all anxious and worried about what happened to Stark but some people are taking it too far." he said then, "So just… You didn't do it, right? It wasn't you."

Steve smiled at him warmly, knowing he had a friend who believed him was really comforting. "Are you saying or asking, Sam?" he said, placing his own hand on Sam's arm when he sighed in relief and smiled back at him. It seemed that he successfully countered the question.

"It's all good, man. I trust you." Sam nodded at him, "Need a lift back to the tower? We can send someone to pick up your ride later…"

"No, it's okay. I think I'm going to stay somewhere else for a few days, doesn't seem like I'm welcome at the tower right now. If… if there's new information about Tony you will tell me, right?" Steve hoped Sam would take the request as something normal, a tell of Steve's inclination to help them if they would let him, maybe it would even throw off their suspicion, now that he and Sam talked. If Sam actually gave him information later that would be a nice bonus, a good way to make sure the Avengers stayed away until Tony was ready to go back. When Sam smiled back he hugged his friend, knowing he wouldn't be able to see him for a while and bid him farewell.

He wasn't even offended when he later found the tracer Sam placed on his jacket, he understood that certain precautions had to be used and that his friend was pressured by the team, by Rhodes, specifically, playing up the blame game and guilting him into committing the betrayal. He didn't hold it against him.

He did however leave his motorcycle standing with the keys in the ignition and the jacket neatly folded on top of it before going into the store, and talked to the pharmacist while the exhaust roared in the background as it was inevitably swiped away by some very unlucky person. He only hoped they would wear the helmet he left with it, and not get into too much trouble over the theft.

The pharmacist was easy to charm, as he did not hide his identity from him and banked on him being an Avengers fan. The man bombarded Steve with questions about the things he wished to purchase. Was the asthma medicine for someone on the team? Captain America didn't need an inhaler, so maybe it was the archer – what was his name again? Oh, right. Hawkguy. Hawkeye? Never mind. For Captain America, it was on the house – the simple, over the counter stuff. Everything else Steve had a good look at, memorized the names and smiled at the pharmacist as he put them back in their place, promising to come back with an appropriate note from a medical doctor.

He waited around for a few more hours, buying other supplies. He thankfully still had savings from his work for S.H.I.E.L.D before Hydra revealed themselves, so he could make any purchases he wanted without relying on Avengers resources.

He watched as the pharmacy closed, let the manager and the last workers get on a bus home before he pulled the front door off its hinges.

He only had a few moments to take care of the cheap alarm system by smashing its control panel to bits just before it went off, He left the place in a mess to cover what he had taken, and took several more items than what he actually needed. He found himself looking over one shelf in particular, a feeling of uncertainty eating at his gut. Of course, he wanted to do it – show his love to Tony again, this time properly. He imagined their next time over and over again since Tony was confirmed to be alive and safe after his surgeries – it would be the same as he imagined the first time around. Tony's pale skin warm under his hands, his body pliable and soft and open for him, this time they will go slowly, use proper lubrication and, despite not actually needing it – protection, For Tony's peace of mind. This time will be different.

He grabbed a box of condoms and two tubes of lubricant from the shelf and added them to his pile of supplies. And soon he was out of the store and hot-wiring an old car that parked ten blocks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeell, just a few more chapters until this is done. In the meantime, it seems Steve is getting worse.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~  
> It's my birthday today, so you are getting a new chapter!  
> I also have most of the next chapter ready so you can expect it soon - sadly, as I started my pretty intense study regime this week, next chapters might get delayed. So I hope you can be patient.
> 
> Also, if I have any readers based in the US - Stay safe, stay strong. I'm feeling your pain and I'm rooting for you.

The screens all over the tower showed it in loops, they couldn't get away from it - wherever they went was the terrifying, nerve wrecking video. A computer simulation that looked awfully realistic and after it a series of blurry images, real pictures showing the entire simulation again, and an extra.

There was no sound, so no one knew what was said when the man in the video leaned over Tony's unconscious form, if anything at all. They all turned their heads when he went further, revolted by the grotesque scene of the attacker claiming his prize.

No one dared deny that the man in those pictures was Steve Rogers, not anymore.

"Sam." He didn't answer, he was too tired to listen to any more of this, too tired to handle the phantom feeling of touch on his arm again as they asked him once more about his encounter or with the guilt that came with it all.

"Tony wouldn't hold trusting your friend against you, and I don't either, okay? You've made a mistake, everyone on the team did." Rhodes' voice is calm. Not the stony, terrifying -the calm before the storm- sort, only resigned, tired maybe. "If I said I don't blame you at all, or any of the Avengers, that would be a lie. But I prefer to do this with all of you than without. The only things that matter in finding him, now." He concluded before leaving the room, the heavy boots of the War Machine armor pounding the floor on his way out.

Sam was so glad when he met Steve when he talked to him and thought he had cleared the situation. He asked him, believing he would get the truth, but was satisfied with no answer at all at the end of it. Steve's sympathetic smile, with a streak of sarcasm as he deflected the question expertly fooled him so easily – Sam's work even before he joined the Avengers, even before he started working at the VA, required him to be perceptive, notice people's feelings and react accordingly.

And with Steve, he failed so damn spectacularly, stupendously. He put a tracking device on him, not because he didn't trust that he would do what he said, but because he wanted to make sure he wasn't going to do something stupid, just so he could have an eye on his friend and make sure that he was really alright, come to his aide if he wasn't.

An hour later he got the call from Clint. They were wrong – he said, and Sam didn't understand at first – what were they wrong about? Clint told him to come to the tower, that he just had to see to understand.

A sense of impending doom was the exact description of what he was feeling on the way to the tower. And said doom arrived promptly as he watched the video and the still pictures, again and again. Some of the time with commentary from other members of the Avengers, later - alone in his room. A feeling of a noose tightening around his neck every time.

When he followed the tracked signal from Steve's jacket, the Avengers found it on a surprised, terrified out of proportion teenager's shoulders, who apologized and begged and explained that didn't actually steal it - in that part of town nobody would have let go of the opportunity to steal a bike with the keys left in the ignition, so he was actually just keeping it safe from actual thieves. The kid squealed in fear when the Hulk pounded his fist on the asphalt and growled at him and they let him run off.

Nobody said 'Maybe' or 'But'. The Hulk roared and made cracks in the asphalt with his fists, and Clint had to sit on the sidewalk a moment, his legs shaking and eyes unblinking as he covered his mouth with one gloved hand while removing his hearing aid with the other, breathing a little heavily.

Sam stood there, looking at the scene, looking at his hands. Feeling again the squeeze of Steve's hand on his arm when they hugged and a sudden turbulence attacked his gut. He replayed the conversation again and again in his mind, trying to find any clue that would allow him to make up an excuse and nearly slapped himself. No. Steve was his friend, but it became clear that he had done a terrible and inexcusable thing. It didn't matter _why_ he did it, why he was still doing it – what mattered were the lives of those he hurt. What mattered was Tony.

Without saying a thing right then, he fired up his jetpack and spread the EXO-7 wings and left the Avengers standing in the street, each in their own form of struggle against the part of them that couldn't accept it completely.

He scoured the street, went back to the store – the pharmacy, and how stupid was he to not notice that the first time – and found it mugged. He called it in and toured the skies. For the entire night and another half day before returning to the tower, exhausted but unable to sleep.

He repeated his tours of the skies of the city for two more days, joined by Clint and Natasha in the quinjet and Rhodes in his armor. These were useless, none of them had no idea where else to look, and no further sightings of Steve were found since that one night.

It was the third night when Rhodes came to see him, and they both sunk in the atmosphere of defeat that hung around the entire tower. Bruce was locked inside one of his special rooms, unable to de-hulk since the night before, Natasha and Clint were out, coordinating the search along with local authorities, to whom they have not told about Steve and instead sold them a story about a Captain America impersonator. That the real story would not have been believed was their reasoning as explained to a furious Rhodes who demanded Steve was held accountable for his actions.

And then the media found out about Tony being missing, and all hell broke loose.

 

Meanwhile, Tony refused to eat.

Not really refused, not that he was on a hunger strike or something. He simply couldn't hold anything down in his stomach.

Steve said he was acting spoiled, asking him in disdain if he thought he was too good for can soup. If Tony thought he could talk without spilling the contents of his stomach again or otherwise keep his lungs from exploding due to the exertion, he would've told him of the gruel he was fed in Afghanistan for three months that would have made military rations from the forties look like three Michelin stars worthy dish. He kept quiet and tilted his head away when Steve attempted feeding him another spoonful.

Steve sighed in disappointment, with the tone of resignation mothers often have when their children misbehave. "If I have to force-feed you, I swear to god, Tony. I will." His hand rubbed Tony's shoulder where it was bruised an ugly purple and blue, it was the one that got dislocated when Steve had his way with him the first time and was not healing very well due to his constant movement required for his protection against further attempts. Tony gritted his teeth and hissed at the added pressure, feeling the taste of bile on his tongue. At that moment Steve shoved his fingers into his mouth and pried open Tony's jaw, which in turn allowed him enough time to feed him from the canister of soup. After he perceived the desired amount was placed in Tony's mouth cavity, and while completely ignoring his flailing body, held Tony's jaw closed and with his other hand blocked his nostrils until he swallowed. The food in his mouth mixed with the bile that rose as he gagged on it, unable to open his mouth to let it all out, and not able to breathe at all either, Tony worked his throat in attempts to swallow down the entire disgusting mix without gagging again.

As soon as he did, Steve let go and watched him double over with his upset stomach gurgling, dry heaving and wheezing wetly as bits of soup leaked from his mouth and nose. "If you throw up, we will be doing this again and again until you don't," Steve said curtly and got up, going to the kitchen and leaving Tony to try and keep his body from expelling the unwanted food, eyes tearing until all the fluids on his face mixed to create an ugly image. Steve came back with a damp paper towel and looked at him with disapproval.

"Your beard is turning grisly." He mentioned as he swiped the towel down Tony's hollowed cheeks, soaking remains of thick soup from his beard and picking out unidentified bits out of it. "It's too long and mangled. Doesn't that bother you?"

Didn't matter if it did, Steve treated any complaint that Tony dared make as either spoiled behavior or a challenge, like he did with Tony's breathing woes, where his solution was an inhaler of all things – only helpful to a point as the medicine did help expand and clear Tony's airways to let more air in, but truly did nothing to help his lungs absorb the extra oxygen he needed so his body could function correctly and start healing. Trying to explain to Steve that what he needed was a breathing machine meant trying to convince him to take him to a hospital again or provide him technology, and that just made the man suspicious and set him in a bad mood, and that meant more pain, more fear. Tony didn't need more of those in his life.

As for the beard, Tony had worse bad-facial-hair-days so he sucked it up. He had no doubt that Steve wouldn't give him a knife to shave with, not even a safety disposable razor. He didn't bother mentioning it.

"You should care about your appearance, Tony, it's a part of who you are." The nasty spill of soup on his lips and under his nose was cleared, and with the smell of it gone his stomach finally relaxed a little and his head cleared another bit. he heard the wheezes of his breath, erratic, not enough… he stopped listening to what Steve was saying and instead tried to summon memories of his childhood, of his mom and Jarvis and how he learned to fix and build an engine. He itched to do something, anything. But his hands were too shaky, and his mind not clear enough on the sequence of actions he used to be able to do in his sleep. Usually, his mind was a safe place to hide in, now it became just another drain on his dwindling mental strength.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by Steve's lips on the corner of his mouth, a peck inquiring for permission for further access. Tony closed his eyes and pried his lips open. To let him taste what he made Tony swallow, maybe. Because he was scared of what will happen if he didn't… maybe.

"I will shave you." Steve said decidedly with a smile before kissing him again, "I won't be as precise as you are, with all the clean-cut shapes and angles, I have no idea how you do it like that… But that's okay, I wanted to see how you would look without that goatee for ages, now."

"Please don't…" Tony murmured under his hitched breath, but it didn't seem like Steve heard him, or maybe he was just ignoring him. He seemed to have developed a condition of selective hearing during the last few days, refusing to hear things that didn't fit into his narrative of what he saw as their budding relationship.

"Younger, I bet." Steve grinned as he dipped in for another kiss, his hand sliding down Tony's torso slowly, "Lovely… sweet… just for me…" Tony considered trying to push him away as Steve's lips moved down, laying pecks along his jaw and throat, but every movement of his hands hurt, and the thought of putting any more pressure on his still fractured bones made him cringe as he considered the damage they were subjected to.

Steve did re-cast them when he came back the night before. He even did so with the efficiency and expertise one could expect of someone who had treated broken bones before, so the end result didn't look bad or unprofessional.  The damage that had been done before could not really be reversed, however – not without surgery, maybe not at all.

Summoning courage and begging himself not to cry, Tony breathed in before letting out a shuddery exhale. "You are being disgusting." Instead of physically pushing him away, he tried a verbal approach and tried not to shudder as two warm hands slid under the shirt he wore – Steve's shirt, drenched in his musk and loose from being stretched across his wide body for too long, Tony wore it willingly, despite the way the scent of it turned his stomach whenever he caught a whiff of it, just to not have to see the old and new marks left on his body from Steve's rough treatment.

Steve was so happy when he saw him wear it, he didn't even get upset about Tony swiping it away from where Steve discarded it the night before on the sofa, It fed right into the domestic like setting he hungered for.

Steve didn't pause for a moment, his hands finding his chest. "You like it."

"I really don't, though…" he hissed and gasped when the thin, delicate skin where his arc reactor used to be was pinched, before Steve's hand moved to rub one of his nipples, a motion that caused Tony's entire body to convulse in revulsion.

"See… You **do** like it, Tony." Steve's tone became dangerous, "You know you do, you shouldn't lie."

Tony bit down the words he wanted to say, instead blinking the tears away from his eyes, "Ok, Steve… I… I'm sorry."

"I know, babe… Come on, we'll take care of your face and then I have another surprise for you." His body went limp as Steve got him to stand up, one of his hands still against his chest while the other supported his back. The feeling of fear that Tony had experienced from the moment he woke up in the facility after being taken from the hospital all through each day and night he spent there, seemingly unending, had then started drumming in the back of his head. Steve was now effectively controlling every aspect of his life – and Tony couldn't say no. he could do nothing that conflicted with what Steve envisioned. It's been days and his willpower for resisting and fighting was draining with every decision Steve had taken away from him. Saying 'no' to anything Steve decided should be done seemed like too much of an effort for which the only return was pain and condemnation.

It didn't seem worth it at all.

So, he didn’t fight when Steve removed his dirty clothes and covered both his casted hands with nylon before he made him step into the shower together with him, he didn't say a thing when warm water licked his bruised skin as Steve held him against his broad chest and murmured words he didn't want to hear in his ear, nor when his hands moved to settle on his hips, lower than where they normally went. 

"Raise your chin for me, baby…" Steve whispered in his ear and then bent his own head to kiss him again before leaning Tony's body against the wall where he slumped down passively and stepping out, he came back with a canister of shaving soap and a safety razor. At the sight of them, Tony's hands shot to his face.

"No! No… please don't." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. It wasn't even such an important thing, was it? Just his beard, he could always grow it again when Rhodey finds him, when he is free. It wasn't worth it right now. It wasn't worth the pain and the lethargy. It was ridiculous, it was so stupid. "Steve, please…" again the words left him, this time in the form of a whine as Steve ignored his plead and lathered a brush with the soap.

Even in Afghanistan the terrorists let him shave on his own and have that last bit of agency over himself, over his looks. Granted, it wasn't a kidnapping of the same kind, exactly. Steve needed him under a different kind of control, needed to break him in a different way. He needed to create a new Tony Stark who fitted what he wanted and for that the old Tony had to disappear, his identity and everything that contributed to it had to be erased.

Recognizing Tony's distress, Steve smiled calmly and raised his hand to stroke along his jaw and down his neck, disrupting the bristles of facial hair that would soon be gone. "You will look so beautiful, Tony," he encouraged softly, his thumb brushing his lower lips as he leaned in, holding Tony's head still between his fingers without an effort. "Don't worry about anything, all you have to do is stay still."

  


	15. Chapter 15

"-Since the Invasion two weeks ago, Tony Stark, the former CEO and current head of R&D at Stark Industries but also, and some might say more importantly – the Avenger known as Iron Man, has been hospitalized with severe injuries and, it seems, a serious case of post-traumatic stress. Eyewitnesses who were at the hospital for the duration of his stay there tell us that Stark often woke up screaming in the middle of the night several times during his stay. It also appears that sometime during his stay, Stark had grown extremely paranoid, and had a bodyguard in an Iron man armor guard his room. You know what they say – just because you are paranoid doesn't mean there isn't someone out to get you, and Mr. Stark have all but proven the saying by disappearing mysteriously, allegedly taken by an unknown—"

The TV turned off as soon as Rhodey entered the room, prompting a protest from absolutely no one who sat in the room. It was sort of a relief, actually – as Jarvis made a point of haunting the Avengers with news coverage of Tony's 'Mysterious' disappearance and crazy theories born of the media's need for an explanation no one would actually provide. The theories were all crazy, some were downright offensive, and none were close to the terrifying truth.

Those who took note of Steve's disappearance did make the connection and suggested ideas that, if not so grotesquely opposite of what happened could be considered _close_ … Some suggested the two Avengers had a romantic affair behind the backs of their teammates and had eloped, another suggested that it was actually Iron Man who caused the disappearance of Captain America and blamed a Russian conspiracy, and more ideas of the sort kept polluting the air all around them for as long as TVs were around.

The short respites they got whenever Rhodey came back from his outings just to rest a few minutes so he could function during his next outing were a blessing, and they all relished in it despite the side-dish of shame that was served alongside it.

"Any progress?" Clint, who did not expect an answer and did not really get one, got up as soon as Rhodey got in the room, handing him a pre-made sandwich they had prepared for all the members returning from their nightly patrol. 

Rhodey and Sam were out nearly all the time, Clint and Natasha were scheduled for the morning, and were keeping an eye on the queries run by Jarvis and the news in the meantime, and Thor was searching in more remote locations, despite no one believing Steve had gotten too far with an injured, barely recovered Tony and no known means of transportation.

In fact, most of the group were already half convinced that this had long ago turned into a hunt after Rogers alone, and that any hope of bringing Tony back _alive_ was no longer warranted. They didn't say so to Rhodey or Sam, of course, but sentiment lingered in the air. Tony was either dead or slowly dying, and if he was alive, the chances that he would stay that way were slimming with every moment that passed.

"When Sam came with me to visit Tony, he thought Sam was going to finish Rogers' Job by killing him." Rhodey had told them when a consensus about Rogers position in the group was met. 

Sam confirmed the words with a grimace, remembering the shift on Tony's face – from excitement and happiness for his friends being there and the pizza, to a frightened child crossed with an angry lupine creature who would have pounced him had he not left immediately.

 Tony went into a fight or flight mode at the very sight of him, just knowing he was Steve's friend.

"Cap… Rogers also had a hard time accepting Tony was alive at first. He argued Tony s _hould_ be dead; I didn't notice the tone of his words…" Bruce supplied, his eyes red and sunken and tired after days of the hulked out state of rage with no sleep, "And… God, oh god… I let him stay there with him, alone… I…" he left the room abruptly, and minutes later they all winced at the sound of a roar and glass breaking.

The team did not discuss it again. Their thoughts on Tony's state of being were pushed back and concealed behind a renewed drive to find him, and to find Rogers before more he could cause more harm.

 – But that too had soon dwindled, sightings of Steve were non-existent from the moment he left city limits in a stolen car – which they found drowned in the Hudson River near New Jersey, of all places.  

The chase began to look hopeless, and the only one who didn't seem to let that take him down was Rhodey, who kept going out at every woke moment and kept looking.

"Rhodes combed through a freaking desert for three months when Tony went missing in Afghanistan, it's not that surprising." Clint said when Bruce questioned the sanity of going on scouting with no leads and no new information, "Everyone thought Tony was dead back then, too. But the bastard is really hard to kill and stubborn to a fault, the Colonel knows that better than any of us." the arrow he played with in his hand split into two pieces before his face softened, disheartened. "He is probably building himself another fucking armor right now and will free himself before we can even count to ten. Any minute now."

When nothing continued to happen for more minutes than any of them cared to count, the group once again fell into melancholy silence.

 Rhodey stood in the corner, still in his armor which rarely came off in the last few days, and ate his sandwich in silence. Despite reaching an accord with the team, he did not fraternize with them anymore, and shared only information he thought was crucial for them to know. It was evident to all that he was not going to let anyone besides himself lay a hand on Tony once they found him, not unless they wanted to face off against him. And if Tony was not… if because of their delay and negligence Tony was hurt with no chance of recovery, there would be hell to pay.

Once he finished the sandwich the helmet closed over his head once more, and he headed to the lift-off area, preparing to leave again.

That was when Jarvis started talking.

"Colonel, I believe I may have found a lead."

 

Slowly and dedicatedly, respectfully handling the sharp razor that sled along the lines of Tony's jaw, removing foam and hair and leaving the skin under soft and clear. He didn't nick his throat on purpose – he told Tony not to move, but the genius just had to fidget constantly, And Steve got a little restless.

"Careful! It could injure you worse the next time." He warned, and he didn't think his words sounded like a threat, even if Tony's big eyes widened and his entire body recoiled like prey facing off a predator when he said them. He tried to smile to ease the mood, but found himself frowning when Tony averted his eyes to look anywhere else but at him.

 "Tony." he reprimanded his beloved, his fingers cupping his chin and pulling it forward so they would face each other. Tony's eyes were still avoiding him but at least now he was relatively still. Steve sighed resignedly and tilted Tony's head to give himself access to the patches of skin he had not yet cleared, at some point Tony closed his eyes all together, a distressed sound leaving his throat as it seemed like he was even holding his breath, just to avoid disturbing Steve's actions.

"You are so good for me, Tony…" Steve praised with a smile as he set aside the razor and turned on the stream of warm water to wash away the remains of the cream on Tony's face and reveal the smooth face underneath it. 

The small wound Tony caused to himself had already stopped bleeding by the time he was done, and barely marred the sight Steve uncovered, which was very satisfying.

Tony murmured something under his breath that Steve pretended not to hear because Tony wouldn't say that he hated Steve, and he wouldn't mean it, certainly. It was the other was around.

He was convinced that as soon as Tony saw his new look, he would feel better, the bitterness and the mean words would go away and be replaced by bashful tameness and awe, and they would move on the next part of the night Steve had planned.

The problem was that instead of letting Steve guide him with the same lax quality his body possessed before, Tony chose to grab the shaving knife, and somehow – despite his nylon covered, casted hands – succeeded in the endeavor. 

Steve moved to wrestle the knife away from him; he was unconcerned for the wounds Tony might inflict on him as the serum was guaranteed to heal all by the next morning.

But Tony instead placed the razor against his own neck, at an angle and position that threatened to cut him in a dangerous, and perhaps even fatal manner.

Steve paused. A frown was coming to his face as Tony's eyes filled with tears. "Let me go." He sobbed, blinking the tears away from his eyes. His hand trembled terribly but was so close to nick himself with the razor that Steve didn't want to risk trying to wrestle it away from him for fear that he might accidentally cause him actually to do it. "Let me go. I don't want this, Steve. Let me go, or I'll free myself this way. I- I hate you enough to do this. I _hate_ you."

 Steve crossed his arms over his chest, and tilted his head. Tried to look as non-threatening as possible as he took a step back from Tony, hoping to ease him enough to remove the knife from the vicinity of his throat. He knew that it would be safe to step in, then. But Tony was too smart to fall for that trap – he was aware that Steve could take the step forward before he could manipulate his damaged hands back into position, and he didn't lower the knife from where it began cutting into his neck.

"Tony, the goatee will grow back." He tried to sooth, attributing Tony's sudden change of behavior to his unexplainable attachment to his old look. "Put down the knife, and I'll give you a mirror so that you can see yourself... you look handsome – You should see." Without replying, Tony pressed the knife to his neck – not near any critical blood vessels yet, thankfully – but enough to draw blood. He looked scared - an expression so much more vivid and genuine now that the beard was gone.

Tony didn't even see how beautiful he looked without the tangled mess of facial hair; he didn't even give it a chance. The sheer _stubbornness_ was making Steve burn inside in the best and worst ways – the desire to dominate him until he rolled over and showed his vulnerability until he let go of the insecurity and control issues and just conceded to receive the help Steve was giving...

 The heat burned as he watched blood trickle along Tony's skin… Was Tony aware that he was doing this to him? Was it on purpose? He didn't mind playing the game.

He hardened his expression and abandoned the attempt to appear accommodating. "You are always like that. Always so sure you know _everything_ that you won't even let people help you." Tony winced, only his free hand supported him against the wall as he took a step backward. "That's what I am trying to do, Tony! I was helping you. And you hate me for that? You cannot possibly be that arrogant, that selfish?"

Tony's entire body trembled now, his breathing hitched and he gasped for air, his lips parted a little. His fingers tightened around the razor's handle. "I am not... You… are not." he swallowed and blinked his eyes several times in a rapid pace, taking in another broken breath. "I don't want… I didn't _wanna_... " Steve hurried to his side when Tony's legs gave out under him. He was freezing after having stood wet and naked in the chilly air of the facility for the last several minutes, his skin was developing a worrying bluish tang of color where he was the palest. Tony writhed under his hands, his fingers clutched on the handle of the knife as he tried and miserably failed to keep it in a threatening position on his throat. It was in Steve's hand not soon enough, after only grazing the skin of Tony's neck twice more.

"I hate you. Hate you. Hate you." Tony repeated the mantra as Steve carried him to their bed, dressed him in warm, clean clothes he'd bought on his outing and tucked him in under warm and thick blankets. He suffered through the repetitive chant, only sometimes interrupted by a cough or a series of dry heaves onto the air. The bluish color of Tony's skin was not going away, in fact it got slightly more pronounced around his lips and fingers, he was shaking uncontrollably now, his heart beat loud and faster than normal.

At some point, the chanting stopped, and both of Tony's casted hands were positioned close to his chest, grasping and clutching at the shirt he wore and the blanket that covered him. 

His eyes closed but he was not asleep as far as Steve could tell. Instead, it seemed that he was experiencing one of the panic attacks Bruce had talked about at the hospital.

When Steve tried to sooth Tony by putting a hand on his shoulder and saying some comforting words, Tony's entire body pulled away from him at once, and his words turned from silent murmured intangible grumbles into cries of rejection. "Tony, you have to calm down." Steve tried more assertively, his hand found Tony's arm, and he pulled it back, which made Tony's voice go silent abruptly.

His shortness and breath refused to go away, as did the paleness and blueness of his skin, his hands were still clutching at his chest. He turned his back further towards Steve, his breathing heavier. "A-aspirin… m-my chest-…" his voice was weak and choppy "P-p-p… please…"

Steve froze a moment, questions running through his mind – how had he not recognized a heart attack? Was Tony faking it? _Could_ anyone fake a heart attack? Did he get Aspirin or Nitroglycerin when he took the things he needed from the pharmacy? And lastly… what should he do?

Before, he was willing to let Tony die if that was what he had to do to keep his image untarnished in his mind, but after seeing him with the knife to his throat Steve didn't want that to happen anymore, the pain of losing him all over again would drive him crazy.

First, and quickly – he decided to go on the safe side and dashed to the cabinet where he locked the medicine from the pharmacy. He found both the needed pill bottles in the bag of supplies, recognizing the Nitroglycerin as one of the prescriptions he grabbed to cover his more particular interests and sighed in relief at his incredible luck.

Before he went back to Tony's side, his eyes landed on another thing he took – a breathing machine and a small oxygen tank. He got it for Tony despite having gotten the inhaler, in case of an emergency, not for casual use. Tony could turn even the smallest piece of technology into a weapon, a bomb or something else equally dangerous, just giving him the oxygen tank could mean an end to the entire facility.

A heart attack qualified as an emergency, of course. But…

Well, hadn't Tony just manipulated him into trusting him before snatching that knife and threatening to kill himself? What if this was another ruse? What if…

No. no. he couldn't think that way. Mistrust and caution were essential, but also caused the rift between them to deepen further. Whether Tony really was undergoing a severe medical emergency or not, Steve had to show him that he would be there for him, that he would work to rebuild the bridge of friendship and love between them. If Tony tried to do something wrong that would hinder that effort Steve would be the bigger person and deal with it.

Eventually, Tony would have to acknowledge his efforts.

"Okay, Tony…" Steve kneeled next to him his brow kneading in concern as the appearance of the man in front of him worsened, "Tony, sweetheart… open your mouth. I have something to make this go away, stay with me…" he took off the blankets and Tony's shirt before making him sit up and slipping the pill past his lips. Tony trembled in his hands, his skin was pale and ghastly but thankfully he did not lose consciousness and allowed Steve to hold him and press the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, as the machine started pumping oxygen through to him.

Tony inhaled it hungrily and reached to grab with flimsy fingers at Steve's wrist in an attempt to convey his need for it to stay where it was and not move away. 

He didn't react when Steve leaned to kiss his forehead, did not recoil or changed expressions to show fear or disgust, as happened most of the time. Just sat there, breathing under Steve's hand and holding onto him like he was a lifeline, dependent, needful of his attentions. Tony was his now.

It was what he wanted. Not all of it – but coming close. The rest would come, sooner or later…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I tried researching heart attacks but I may have not depicted it very well... sorry!  
> Also, second week of the semester, so much work, I'm dying. doing the best I can to bring you more chapters soon though so don't give up on me! :))


	16. Chapter 16

Pain was a constant for the last few years. It comes with the job – not his day job, though listening to the board of directors' talk can cause quite the headache at times, and carelessness while working with high density lasers and other potentially deadly tools could be a cause of a considerable amounts of pain and wounds but… no, the worst pain he experienced came from his becoming "Iron Man".

Different people with different viewpoints and different amounts of knowledge about how it had happened often also had different opinions as to when he "turned" into the superhero. Those who knew no better thought it was at the moment he said the words – other believed it was when he donned the armor for the first time.

No.

Tony looked around him and saw his company's logo plastered over crates, dozens of them – all full of weapons he himself created, he himself designed. He saw those weapons and he saw the men who wielded them, he saw the people who died when they rained down on their heads or shot straight at them point blank and no pain that he ever felt before or after that moment could compare.

To ease the pain, he had to do things. He created a suit of armor – amazing, truly a marvel. He wasn't going to be modest about it, he knew what he had created and he felt justified to his pride in it. Even when wearing it brought more pain, more injury. Even when it caused those he thought loved him to turn against him – it was the only thing to offer a contrast for the much deeper sort of pain, the other side of the coin called "Iron Man".

A while ago, he tried to let go. He tried to pretend that the pain – the constant pain that stabbed as horribly as the shrapnel in his chest all the time was really just that – just the shrapnel, just the burn of the reactor. He got rid of them, and he got rid of the suits. Because letting them stay once the pain was gone meant letting them take over everything that remained of him.

It never took. The pain didn't go away; it just went deeper. Every mistake he'd made worsened it still, and at some point, the suits didn't help anymore.

Maybe that was why he felt a little grateful when the building collapsed over him, why he hadn't fought as hard or made a significant effort to get free. Not from the rubble, not from Steve's hold.

What had he left? What worth was to his life if he couldn't make up for the pain he had caused, continued to cause with his mistakes and carelessness. A genius he wasn't – not when he couldn't see the darker side of things when they were right in front of him. First Hydra within SHIELD, for which he created machines to help with a murderous scheme he had no knowledge of, and Steve… whom he considered a friend, yet turned out to be this twisted and sick thing.

Steve, whose lips were tracing the lines of his body and hands were stroking down his stomach and thighs, squeezing down on their softness while Tony was lying motionless on the bed, his heart just barely recovering from the cardiac event it had suffered through without the proper care, medicine and monitoring. He had oxygen now, that, at least, kept him from getting worse again.

He barely noticed the touches anymore, the violation stopped being new and scary and instead became familiar and manageable. Routine meant not having to think, meant numbness – and no more of that horrible pain.

Maybe it was just what he needed all this time.

Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome, a variation of it? Did he care?

He hated Steve. He hated his touch and the way he looked at him tenderly as if he truly loved him, as if Tony could love him back. He hated the words he said to him as he kissed him along the jaw and whispered in his ear and he hated that he couldn't say so.

He hated that Steve's hand was the one that fed him, and the one that brought him oxygen when breathing became a terrible strain on his body, he hated that he had to beg for it, and to be kissed and kiss back right before he could have the promised surge of air that gave that brief relief to his aching lungs and heart. He hated that he didn't mind, just as long as he could breath.

Steve had turned him into an addict, and Tony - who didn't want the pain and was too much of a coward to just let himself die, allowed him to do so.

Days passed in a haze, only organized by the things Steve did or said. When was it time to eat – be force fed – or to go to the bathroom, when was he allowed to sleep and when must he take medicine that wasn't helping ease any pain at all. Otherwise, he knew nothing on the passing of hours or days, not anymore. He could equivalent such a haze to his days long binges in the workshop, where he could keep his mind too busy to care about things like time passing him by, but it wasn't exactly the same thing. 

Here, his mind had become dazed, a thought not lingering in his mind for enough time to actually form and have substance, his broken hands unable to build or hold on or even stop shaking uncontrollably all the time – and so useless, neither could provide any distractions from the time crawling by.

It wasn't months, not yet. Weeks? Not many. Tony could still remember the names of the doctors who took care of him at the hospital, and the nurses who looked at him with both adoration when he told them tidbits of gossip and pity when his anxiety caught up with him, he hoped they were all okay, that they didn't get caught in Steve's path or tried to stop him. The thought brought him pain, and he couldn't handle more of it – not anymore.

Tony hoped, a tiny bit, that it took him more than just a week to be broken down, that he wasn't so weak and susceptible to Steve's manipulation and dominance that he accepted it so soon. He hoped – and hated that he did, that the Avengers had given up, that Rhodey had given up. That they would not find him hugged tightly against Steve's chest, not fighting, begging for whatever relief he could get from the burning pain in his chest.

Speaking of…

He initiated the kiss, this time. Hoped that Steve would get it without him having to beg for it verbally, without having to repeat the words. 'Please, I need to breath'.

It was never that easy, and this time wasn't any different. Steve had this Idea in his head – someday Tony would do this because he wanted to, someday Tony would truly love him back or acknowledge that he always did, and he would do the little things lovers do without an ulterior motive, without conniving to get anything but love and warmth back. And Steve acted on that belief to the latter, Steve accepted the peck on his lips and with a hand on Tony's waist pulled him in for more. The same hand moved to stroke his thigh and pet his bottom before Tony recoiled back, backing away from the touch and the hungry exchange of fluids. 

"Please," He repeated the words that floated in his mind, " _Please_ , Steve… I need to breath."

Disappointment and contempt marred Steve's face, turning him from the content and hopeful man Tony used to cherish and worship to the monster he saw in his nightmare riddled sleep, and for a moment he worried – maybe he had grown tired of waiting for his ideal to come true, perhaps he would give up, now. What that meant for Tony? he didn't know, but the options weren't so numerous that Tony couldn't guess the spirit of the things Steve might do to him once he lost his patience, and fear of those actions stayed fresh and constant in his mind whenever he managed to focus it.

"Okay, Tony." a breath of relief left him at the words, only for the next one to hitch in his throat when Steve leaned in for another kiss, stealing it away before getting back up. "You've been so good, and your condition seems to have improved…" he smiled, "I took care of you, like I said I would. And you're getting so much better. Maybe we can try the surprise I had planned for the other night."

Tony didn't answer, he didn't bother to mention that he'd just had a heart attack, or pose any argument against whatever Steve had planned. He knew that it would happen sooner or later – he expected it sooner, if he was being honest with himself. Every touch and every stroke against his skin made his mind turn on a deafening alarm – numb turned into hypersensitive, apathy into panic. The worst part was knowing that Steve would not rip into him mercilessly and be done with it as soon as possible – no, he would not do that. Instead, he would make it linger, take it slow and whisper loving nothings in his ear. He would do anything to make Tony enjoy it and respond to him, and he will succeed.

"I love you, Tony." Steve said as he set the machine on the floor by the bed, hooking it to a new, larger than usual oxygen tank. His eyes never left the contraption, not peaking to survey Tony's expression as he said the words. "I know it doesn't always seem that way – our relationship before was complicated, so we can't just expect everything to go smooth now. We still have to learn to trust each other again, and to be honest with each other."

Tony kept quiet, his breathing heavy and ineffective. He knew Steve had tried to initiate conversation between them, or hear some words that Tony had no intention of ever saying. He lowered his eyes to watch him hook the machine into a hidden, biometric panel protected power outlet and bit his lip at the sound of whirring once it started working. He was impatient and an idiot, which was why he outstretched his hand to take hold of the oxygen mask on his own, only to freeze in that position, when it was unsurprisingly grabbed by Steve first.

He let the other man manipulate his body – pull him and lay him down where it would be easier for Steve to spoon him while he breathed. It was a methodic way of creating an emotional dependency – Steve was linking the relief for the pain in his chest to the warmth of their bodies snuggly fitting against each other. And… yeah, well. It was working. The tension in Tony's body relaxed at the touch of Steve's skin against him, something in his subconscious recognizing it as a sign that soon it will get what it needs in order to survive.

Tony didn't turn to see what Steve was pulling out of a bedside drawer cabinet, he did not resist when the hem of his pants was rolled down while Steve's other hand placed the oxygen mask on his face. Focused on the feeling of his body recognizing and adjusting to the newfound oxygen-rich air, he ignored the prickling under his skin where Steve stroked it, and the warm kisses on his shoulder and the back of his neck.

When Steve settled behind him, one hand stroking circles on his stomach while the other slid down his back. He might have jerked a little, might have sobbed softly under the mask when he felt Steve's still clothed crotch rub against him. Mimicking the act that would follow soon after.

He knew Steve would get mad and take away the air if he resisted. But he couldn't help it. A warning pinch caused him to freeze up, close his eyes as hard as they would go.

"Relax…" Steve's voice pled, "If you don't it will hurt, and I know you don't want this to be like our first time."

Tony shuddered under Steve's hands, bits of what he thought belonged in a nightmare flooding his mind. The pain was excruciating – he was buried under an entire building; if not for his armor he'd be dead, and nothing was in the right place.

It was hard to breathe again despite the aide the machine provided. Steve implored him to relax, he didn't want to feel like he was doing this with a corpse, like before. That was the point.

"This is how you show me you are alive, Tony… come on, you even enjoyed it before… remember? When I did this…" his hand was between Tony's thighs, massaging his genitals in a slow and deliberate method. "You lost so much blood, but you still… you still managed to get hard, for me… remember?"

He didn't remember. All he could remember was pain, and cold, and Steve touching him in all the wrong places, just as he did now. "Bullshit." He muttered, immediately followed by a pained whine when Steve's hand squeezed down on his flesh at the sound of his voice. He bit his lower lip, reminding himself not to do this, not to anger him. Not _now_.

"You always think you know best." Steve hissed. "You don't remember but you say it's bullshit? You were _loving it_." His hand moved, stroking Tony's limp cock with newfound vigor. "You moaned and smiled and you whispered my name, and it took time – I won't say it didn't, but you got hard! And… God, Tony, I know it hurt, I know… It wasn't the best time or place…" he paused to listen to Tony's choked moans as his strokes managed to do what they, scientifically speaking, could not have managed during the first time because that was not how bodies worked – a fact that Steve was not willing to accept. "But you can't say that you didn't enjoy it, you can't say it didn't help."

Tony bit down and gritted his teeth, trying to stop more voices from coming out. as far as Steve was concerned, physical reaction meant he was enjoying this, meant that it wasn't against what Tony wanted. Even if the reaction was completely imaginary – even if Steve was making it up to rationalize the rape.

If Steve got to make stuff up, then… so did Tony.

He didn't answer Steve, knowing his words could only serve to make the man even more aggressive. Instead he closed his eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt to relax his body. Maybe- maybe if it was someone else, anyone else, he could rationalize this too. He could make himself believe that he'd wanted this too.

Soon, he let loose the sounds and pleads that pooled in his throat, he let himself get lost in the pictures he conjured for himself, of youthful fantasies and experimentation, when whoever did the touching did not really matter – just until the point where it did.

He squirmed and moaned under Steve's hands, whimpering as the orgasm built up, deliberately hastened by his imagination. He pled for more – faster, harder – And Steve was happy to provide, unaware that it wasn't him Tony was asking this of.

Tony cried as he came – not loudly, not screaming with pleasure. Just in small, helpless sobs. He continued murmuring his pleads, forgetting who it was that held him, forgetting who it was who got him to this state – and how dangerous it was to forget that.

The oxygen mask was taken away, and the air turned stale and unsatisfactory. Tony gasped softly and turned to look at Steve, he felt himself trembling, the picture he created for himself in his mind crushing into pieces at once.

"Say you love me, Tony." Steve's voice was harsh, "Say you liked this, you know you did. Say it."

"I… I c-can't, Steve… please, please I can't…" can't say it, it wasn't true. "I don't, I don't… Please…"

"And yet you begged for me to do this? Do you think I am stupid, Tony?" Steve rolled him so he laid on his back, his other hand – the one that gave him the hand-job just moments before, covered in his spill, held to his chin to keep him from looking away. "Who was it? Who were you thinking about?"

Tony gasped again, fear pooling in his chest and stomach. The smell of his own cum on Steve's hand made him feel nauseous. He could lie, Steve would accept a lie because he was so desperate for it to be the truth, he could lie…

He didn't get the chance. As he pulled him to his feet, Steve's face was wearing an expression unlike anything Tony ever imagined he would see on the super-soldier face -enraged beyond reason. "I _saved you,_ you are alive because I did what I did, Tony. No one else would have done it for you, they would have left you there to die." He dragged him across the room, letting Tony's lose clothes tangle around his feet until he tripped and fell, only kept from hitting his head by Steve holding him up. He didn't get a chance to collect himself and stand on his own before Steve hauled him off his feet, hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of flour and knocking what little air he managed to gather out of his lungs.

Before he could find out where Steve was taking him, Tony lost consciousness.

 

The hut was rundown, oozed decay and filth. It was hidden in a patch of lame forest not too far and not too close to the city, and appeared on no satellite map Jarvis could pull up. It was almost impossible to find – all records of it were wiped from the databases at the tower, Jarvis could barely pull up any backups of the floor plans, and even those were incomplete.

The only reason they knew what direction to look in, was because once Jarvis told them which project Steve had requested scrubbed off the servers before he kidnapped Tony, Sam recalled its name and the details Steve had shared about it, for the unlikely case any of them could subdue the Winter Soldier and get him there.

It was also unapproachable, surrounded by hidden weapons and alarm triggers. They spent two days just scouring the area, finding the location and trying to find a flaw in the design. There wasn't one.

"Shit, I seriously don't care." Rhodey said, ripping off the bandages on his sprained hand as he motioned for War Machine to open up for him, despite the urging arguments from the rest of the team not to do it. "I am not waiting another moment, you understand? This shithole got weapons? Well so does War-Machine, and I am a better shot than a computer can ever hope to be. No offense intended, Jarvis."

 "None taken, Colonel." The A.I replied in his ear, speaking through the headphone, "The computer systems controlling this place are ran on a separate system array, unfortunately. I will not be able to shut down the defenses."

"So we can't just easily hack our way in, then. Uh. It's okay." Rhodey breathed in, panic settling in the pit of his stomach. He'd hoped Tony had left some kind of a back door, a line of code just subtly not completely perfect, just enough for Jarvis to exploit and get in. but it was useless if Jarvis had no access at all.

Tony was always so smart when it came to security, but right now it seemed so dumb. Obviously, creating a connection between Jarvis and the safe-house could create all sorts of security problems that would have been less than ideal if it was being used for its original purpose. Tony did his best to avoid those problems, he never even considered it being used against him. He never really thought how something could be used against him. He was naïve like that.

But not really. Rhodey knew. Tony wasn't stupid, wasn't trusting blindly in anyone who crossed his path. He just… didn't care. Being hurt by his own tech was just another Wednesday, getting betrayed by someone he trusted was routine by now. And he still… still did things like this. Still left himself no back doors, no escape routes. He still lay down and let people rip into his exposed, vulnerable heart just to get them to trust him, to validate and be able to forgive him for whatever was his crime in life from their perspective.

"Colonel?" Jarvis' voice blared in his ear and he shook the thoughts from his head, his anger and frustration dissipating in favor of cold, calculated planning. He asked Jarvis to show him a scan of the area and took into account the visible and hidden weaponry scattered around, being familiar with Tony's style, he was able to pinpoint likely locations for more hidden weaponry, and laughed shakily as he compared the artillery remaining in War Machine's inventory. It wasn't even nearly enough.

He could make use of the Avengers, the Hulk and Thor at the very least could take care of some of the heavier stuff. He had no qualms about fighting alongside them again. Moral and trust was low between all of them and that was a bad starting point. But he needed them, Tony needed them – even if they didn't even believe in him still being alive, even if they didn't believe in him at all for the better part of their acquaintance.

"Jim? Did you fall asleep in there?" Natasha's voice jerked him back into reality, and he turned to look at her. She was smiling wryly, her fingers softly tapping on the warm metal plating on his arm. She was good at hiding her concern, he almost couldn't spot it, if not for the Armor's sensors, he would not have noticed the tremble in her form.

"Nah." He said, firing-up the repulsors and taking off the ground. He didn't face the others as he spoke. "Get ready, and listen closely. This is how we are getting in."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so sorry for the late update. I've been swamped with assignments and homework so I had to put fanfiction on hiatus for a while. I am still swamped, and the semester is just now coming to an end (it began late) so there are a lot of big projects and tests that I am currently working on, but I do intend to finish this story, so stay tuned. :)
> 
> Thank you for you continuous support!!

It was over. They were almost in.

The Hulk and Thor took the brunt of it, both seemed more than determined to destroy every piece of weaponry they could get their hands on, and were quite successful in that endeavor, too. Natasha thought she could imagine Tony's face if he saw the two of them ripping through his defense systems so seamlessly, without a hitch, only once or twice struggling to shake off a stubborn missile, which would be then intercepted by the war machine armor. It was a mixture of horror and amusement and concealed pride in his friends.

It was a good diversion as the other Avengers - the human, unarmored ones - stalked their way around that battlefield.  If Steve knew they were there, there was no sign to show it. No alarms blaring -though it was quite possible that the deafening noise of things going 'boom' in the forest could have already alerted him. It didn't matter much, anyway. The place was small enough for them to keep a tight watch on, and there didn't seem to be hidden exits anywhere around. They checked any suspicious looking rock and bunny-hole – metal detectors, scans by Jarvis, and just plain old digging around to see if they find a hidden door all proved useless in the end.

"What… what are we going to do if Steve is still in there?" Clint's voice, low and dry whispered behind Natasha, discouraged as he was by his own lack of good judgment, earlier. "What are we going to do, Nat?"

She bit her lower lip, lowering her head. Truth be told – she knew no better than Clint. She thought it would be easy, that she would be able to just, well, take Steve down, like she did her operators in the KGB, like she did Hydra-SHEILD. But as they made their covert way to the side of the house, advanced lock-picking equipment and explosives for a case in which the former did not work carried carefully in lightweight cases by the two spies, she realized she had no idea what 'Taking Down' Captain America entailed.

She found herself hoping that Steve was not inside, hoping she would not have to make a decision. If they found Tony, that'd be enough. If not…

Clint had always been clever, he picked up her lack of answer and knew what it meant, and they continued stalking toward the hut, managing to avoid traps and a few more shooting guns, which were then disabled using most of the special arrows at Clint's disposal. He was left nearly empty-handed when they finally reached the spot where the partial floor plans claimed the entrance was. There was no indication of that on the outside, however. What they saw and unfortunately smelt seemed like nothing more than rotting wood panels.

Natasha moved aside as Clint attached one of his explosive arrows to the wood, and the both of them took cover as it blew away most of the façade. The metal wall beneath the rotten wood was left completely unscathed by the explosion, not a scratch or a scorch mark left on it.

Next up were the lock-picking technologies Natasha acquired from Pepper before they embarked, if anything could breach Tony's tech, it would've been Tony's tech. unfortunately, none did much more than confirm that there was indeed a door there, most certainly not opened it.

"What a freaking idiot, do you think he made this place Hulk-proof too?" Clint seethed, hitting the metal wall before them with his clenched fist. His frustration showing in the lines of his face and the skin stretched across stern muscles. Natasha knew she was not showing as bad as him, but their thoughts were most likely synchronized. Tony made the place so secure that he'd doomed himself if they could not find a weak spot, if they could not get in.

Such a scenario, however, was not even close to being on her agenda. She stood there and stared at the wall, intensely considering it as if her glare could be enough to make the door slide open. If it was necessary, she knew her teammates would tear the entire place down by any means necessary, but she had a less violent solution in mind.

Go back to the basics.

Tony Stark was smart. So, so smart, that he tended to rush ahead with his technology, take care of any problem the present and the future could present, while paying less attention to the past. And that was their way in.

"Sam? I need you to fly back to the tower and fetch me something."

 

First of all, he had to keep Tony safe. And that meant keeping him away from stress and loud noises, and from the interference by those who did not understand why all of this was necessary. Second… well, he was angry – justifiably so. Tony had shown no progress. He lied, pretended, manipulated him for his own gain once more. He deserved this, and it will no doubly benefit him more than it could do harm, anyway. Steve was even generous enough to let him have the breathing machine with him, so there should be no further complaints once they are secure again, once the Avengers give up and walk away, made aware finally that they were not needed or wanted near them, not at the moment.

  Steve did feel the sting of guilt in his chest when he thought of his teammates. He wished that he could let them in on his plan and showed them that it was the best scenario for everyone, for himself and Tony, obviously, but for the team, for the world as well. Everybody would benefit from this, eventually.

He made sure Tony would be comfortable and as warm as was possible, and then longingly stared at his lover's lips. They were pale and dry and cold when he touched them, not unlike a dead person's. he reasoned to himself that later he would be able to kiss him awake again - kiss him until the color comes back to his lips and cheeks. Tony could not fight him forever – had to recover soon, even if he could be stubborn for a long time, Steve could out-stubborn him, he could wait.

Until it was needed, all Steve wanted was to keep Tony safe, and to keep Tony _his_. And for that, he had to get rid of their meddling, misunderstanding friends.

Once Tony was wrapped in warm blankets in the small nest of pillows Steve had made for him, placed in a small and bleak room Tony had designated in his plans an 'even Safer room', Steve hooked in the breathing machine into another hidden wall socket and loaded it with a fresh and full oxygen tank – a precaution, most of all. He had no reason to believe that he would be gone for more than a few hours, at most, but if for some reason that was not the case… he knew he could count on Tony to make do until he came back to him, but Tony's body was traitorous, so such precautions had to be taken.

Despite everything, he still held on to the idea of Tony by his side, alive and happy. It was still within the scopes of fantasy, as it turned out… Steve wanted to believe otherwise for a while, but was proven right in his precautious thinking – when put to the test, Tony still had enough arrogance in him to deceive and lie to him for benefits, and that just didn't fit the bill of what he was trying to achieve.

And now… now he had to deal with the Avengers too, on top of it all.

He wiped Tony's face from the sweat that clung to it from before, his gaze hovering over his fluttering eyelids and the troubled creases between his eyebrows, taking them in with a sad smile. bad dreams again – if he only he let him, Steve would've made them go away, Tony could've been sated and relaxed instead of wallowing in this miserable existence.

He put on and strapped the oxygen mask to its place on Tony's face, noticing how it seemed to fit almost too perfectly, as if shaped specifically to his face, disturbingly like a permanent fixture. As he wondered if one day they could be rid of the sight, the dim sound of an explosion far closer than there should have been one made him get up and leave the room, closing it behind him with a silent sigh and his back to the door. It was hidden just as the entrance to the safe-house was, the door resembling a normal wall more than anything, and powerfully sealed against explosions and advanced lock picks alike.

Even in the rare case where the Avengers found their way in, they would not find Tony. Even if it meant… it was fine, because he would stay his even beyond the end.

Minutes later, Steve sat in the kitchen. He was fully attired in the Captain America costume for the first time since he and Tony came to the safe-house what seemed like weeks ago. The noises outside seemed to be growing loud and more frequent, which meant they were confronting some of the deadlier systems Tony had implemented. Steve allowed himself to imagine what things Tony thought the house would have to withstand – hordes of monstrous aliens and failed-experiment literal monsters, probably. Not their friends…

He allowed himself a moment to be proud of Tony for designing the house to be this strong, knowing any other place would not have survived against the Hulk's rage or Thor's might. Tony had done it for him, merely as a favor or a grand gesture of comradery. Would he have done it if he didn't love him?

He sat, fiddling with the edges of his shield as he listened to more and more explosions and shouts from outside, listening to the dim roars of a frustrated Hulk as he fantasized about going back to Tony's location, hugging him until he woke and then thanking him for keeping them both safe. He wasn't as upset about the lies anymore, they would go away soon enough.

He almost didn't notice the two spies sneaking their way behind him, just almost.

"Nat," He didn't bother with the pretense he put up for Sam before, his crashed mood did not allow it. "Clint… you got in."

He got up, strapping the shield to its place on his arm and heavily turned to look at his team-mates, former, if the weapons trained on him and the looks they gave him were any indication. He really wished it wouldn't come to that, it really didn't have to.

Natasha kept her face set as stone, not part of her body moved an inch further than how it was supposed to, like a perfectly carved statue she stood and aimed her weapon at him, assured in her resolve as if she and Steve were not teammates how brought down an entire branch of corrupt government together, as if she and him had not bonded as fugitives from the law just months before.

Clint seemed to be less confident in his grip on his bow. He looked at Steve, up and down, eyes focusing on his half-covered face, as if trying to find something he recognized there. Steve smiled gently in his direction and nodded once, encouragingly. If he could convince even one of them of the importance what he was doing, then that would be enough. They will convince the others for him.

"Steve..." Natasha was the one who opened, and surprisingly, or maybe not too much so, had a glint of gentleness in her voice. She hesitated, saying his name seemed to have awakened some kind of a realization in her, as if she was just now understanding who it was she stood against. "We have the building surrounded-" she went straight ahead with the direct approach, knowing he would not go for anything less. "The building is being scanned for weaknesses since we got in, it will come down soon. take the chance to come quietly with us now, and… and we can all talk about this." The subtlety of the lie was not lost on him, he appreciated it, smiling in her direction. "Please, Steve… none of us wants to lose another friend. Just come."

It was rare, almost entirely impossible to catch Natasha genuinely beg, but right now that seemed like such an occurrence. Steve was baffled by her words, however – "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware someone left us." he said, frowning, "Oh, wait. You mean Rhodes? I hope it wasn't because of his little disagreement with me, Tony would hate for his best friend to quit being an Avenger because of him…"

The two spies exchanged subtle glances, Natasha's face remaining stony while Clint's frown deepened and eyes darkened. "Cap…" This time, it was Hawkeye who addressed him, shaking his head slightly, "Steve, please. We can still try to fix this." He said with a voice emotional and dreary, "at least… we'll make sure you are treated with respect and dignity and get a fair trial. Alright?"

Steve caught another glance between the two. "A trial? For…?" he kept his face as neutral and still as he managed, but no one would blame him for the low, gurgling snarl that started to form at the back of his throat. A violent vision of both spies' heads smashed in his powerful fists filled his mind for a moment before he shook it away, feeling the pinch of a twitch in the muscles of his face.

Both spies stared at him flatly. Clint momentarily snuck a side look at Natasha, who remained frozen in her glare at Steve, then looked back in the same direction. "For assaulting and kidnapping-" Clint was cut off by Natasha, who lowered her weapon and stepped forward slowly.

"Steve, _please._ We are not here to fight you." Her voice was soft, and if Steve had not known her skills he would have perhaps believed her words. Unfortunately for her, he was well experienced in that regard.

"No, you are here to arrest me." He snarled, causing her to recoil from him, her weapon right back in the air. "We are doing nothing wrong, Nat. just… strengthening the bond that was already there. Taking time, like you suggested." He sighed then, staring at the both of them. "we needed this to figure everything out, both of us."

Both of the spies remained persistently still where they stood, glaring at him. Something in their expressions began to change when he talked, as if they had just come to some incredible revelation – then Clint looked around him as if searching for something, and Natasha's glare turned vicious just before she lunged, firing the Widow's Bites at him in a sudden move that he was barely able to block with the shield, followed by a kick to his unprotected side.

It was a longer adjustment than he had hoped, but Steve managed to get to his feet and fight back, slamming the spy into the wall with the entire weight of his body and the shield, he heard Clint calling her name from behind him, but ignored his voice, focusing his strength at disarming the more dangerous part of the pair.

Natasha managed to squirrel away from under the pressure of the shield against her body, rolling to the side. She nursed her arm under her chest, and Steve vaguely recalled that it had broken during the invasion. "You should not be in active duty with your arm like that." He chided, expecting her to smile at him in defiance and keep the banter going, instead she pursed her lips and shot another round of electricity in his direction, which he deflected with the shield a second time.

When he lowered the shield, looking through the tendrils of smoke that filled the room, the thought for a moment that he was alone in the room again – he spotted Natasha just before she delivered a kick to his head and wrapped her thighs around his neck in an attempt to smother him or at least get him to disarm. She was nearly successful, but he sooner flung her across the room than dropped his shield – and just in time to see Clint pass through the door to the bedroom.

They were going for Tony. he could not let them find him.

 

               


	18. Chapter 18

The door closed shut behind Clint moments before Natasha could join him, he heard her frustrated shout from beyond the mechanized steel, just before the thud that told him of the fight still going on in the other room rattled the walls.

He wasn't worried. Nat could handle herself without him, even locked in a room with a psycho-killer super-soldier who used to be one of their team-mates - one of their friends. She was resourceful and they did prepare for the possibility of being separated, who they ended up fighting had nothing to do with their joint nor solo capabilities for taking out their adversary and getting their mission done.

It was fine, Nat was going to be fine. He took in a deep breath to consider the situation. His arrow supply was depleted from being used against the constant barrage of actual missiles they had to deflect while they waited for Sam to come back from the errand Natasha sent him on. He still had knives hidden all across his attire and the cartridge of the gun he had on him was still full – he hoped, of course, that he would not have to use it, that he would have no reason to – but after seeing Steve's face back in the other room…

It was frightening. Even when the man was sitting around calmly and talking at them with a familiar smile, there was something… not right all about him, about the way his body moved. It was still Steve – there was no denying that anymore. Clint wanted to be able to deny it, to think there was something else taking the place of the beloved hero or making him act the way he did, but he no longer could, not after seeing that face and hearing his words.

He had a hard time pointing out what was causing him to feel like someone sneaked a cube of ice down his collar when Steve met his glare with his eyes, genuinely questioning the reason for their being there, berating and bantering as if in the middle of practice as he re-broke Nat's hand under the weight of his shield and body. It was still him, by all accounts. Clint prided himself with a sharp eye and some decent spying skills, but he still felt that if he didn't know what Steve had done he'd have no way of knowing that something was wrong. The tone of his voice when he talked, the set of his jaw when he glared at them with a frown were the same, his body language did not change.

Clint had his mind wrapped and taken over, he saw others under the effects of mind-control and brainwash and this wasn't it. Steve have not changed, only their perception of him have.

Clint ignored the sounds of the fight, dim as they were through the steel wall, in favor of a look around the room. It was the only other room in the cabin according to their blueprints, barring the bathroom. Not finding Tony there did not come as a surprise, even if it did squash what hopes and dreams he had of ever being able to do so. Bruce warned them that there might be no one left to rescue anymore, and their mission was to capture Steve from the get go. Neither he or Nat were too optimistic, it was a trait people in their line of work tended to lose early on.

But it was absolutely depressing. Clint had no desire to be the one walking out of there and having to face Rhodes, who had kept his hopes high and refused to even acknowledge the possibility of his best friend not being there anymore. The least he could do was try to look around some more, maybe find something of Tony's to bring back with him, or a clue about the location of what was left. Steve acted and talked like there was nothing wrong at all, like He and Tony were a single entity, or a couple of some sort. It was sickening, but it also meant that perhaps Steve kept something to remember Tony by, something that would keep his sick delusion going.

As he looked around, Clint found some evidence to the things that transpired in the room. Like a scene of a violent crime, the scents of dried fluids that should not have been coming out of a living body lingered all around, and mixed with them were scents of soap and shaving cream and, the worst one yet – the smell of sex. Clint nearly gagged when he smelt, then saw the old piss and puke stained bundle of linen that was cast off to the side of the room, and the sheets on the bed seemed to be in no better condition – stained with dry blood, some newer than he expected to find, and bits of what could have once been some kind of liquidated food, as if someone drank it straight from the can with no regard to what actually got in their mouth and what ended up on the sheets or the floor, there were smears of the stuff near the pillow and the middle section of the bed, indicating someone had actually lay in this mess for perhaps days or even weeks, and when Clint found a small cabinet filled with clean linen and sheets, the terrifying realization that it was left like this on purpose downed on him like a sack filled with rocks.

One louder thud, accompanied by a shout by his partner alerted Clint to the passing of time, he found himself kneeling near the bed with a hand over his mouth, trying to keep the scents and his own convulsing stomach at bay. He didn't like that sound, it was the kind of sound one makes when a hurt spot is being exploited to cause greater pain, like a broken arm being stepped on, or broken in another place. Natasha was strong, she could withstand torture both physically and emotionally, but Clint preferred for her to come out of the encounter whole.

"Jarvis, give me five more minutes, then open the door." He whispered into his communication device, then, after a few moments he added "I'm sorry."

There wasn't much more to do in the room, he just had to survey the bathroom, imprint every single terrifying detail into his psyche, and then he would re-join the fight, and they will take the super-soldier down.

 

It was the shout that finally woke Tony up. His heart was pounding within his chest, and the intake of air he took caused him to burst into a fit of coughing. His throat felt too dry, and his chest hurt again, but otherwise he felt warm and comfortable in the nest of blankets and pillows Steve apparently made for him. Considering how he was woken up, and what had happened before he lost consciousness, Tony felt rather calm, almost tranquil. It didn't really matter what happened from here on. Steve was probably going to forgive him, or kill him… it really seemed like the same thing to him at this point, with death being the slightly better option, perhaps.

Back to the shout. It sounded familiar, it certainly did not belong to a man, so it wasn't Steve's voice. But Tony couldn't fathom where he'd heard the voice before then, and was baffled by its existence. His curiosity was what compelled him to eventually abandon the rare comfort and warmth that surrounded him and struggle to get up on his knees, blinking away the remains of sleep from his eyes. He wanted to stay where he was, just wallow in the comforts and warmth of the blankets and forget whatever nightmare had caused him to wake up, but then he heard another shout, and then he recognized the voice. _Natasha._

They came for him, they were somewhere inside the cabin, looking for him. Tony barely scrambled to his feet, nearly falling when they tangled in the mess of blankets and sheets on the floor. The oxygen mask torn away from his face as he made his way, leaned against the wall towards where the entrance to the room should have been, if he recalled the design correctly – he had his doubts about the ability his mind possessed for remembering things correctly anymore. It was just… one of the things he had to come to terms with over the last couple of days. Not being a genius anymore, becoming a messy invalid who couldn't keep his bowels in check, forgetting both vital and trivial pieces of information his brain had stored over the years…

Of course, the door had been sealed shut and he was trapped inside the small room, which, as it were, Tony had started to realize was way smaller than he initially thought. Suddenly it felt like the walls were closing in on him until vertigo hit and he went down to his knees, covering his head as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He heard a crush and a shout, again, it sounded like Natasha. Steve would not hurt her, right? She was one of _his_ friends, helping with his campaign to extract the Winter Soldier from Hydra's grasp and taking down Shield and all those other things they did together. Her relationship with Steve was not based on her spying on him when they first met, at the very least.

And he was hurting her. Like he hurt Rhodey… like he hurt Tony so many times over the last few weeks.

He had long given up on the notion that Steve was in any way the same one he grew up idolizing, or even the one he thought he was working side by side with as equals, as teammates and perhaps even friends, the man had proven it far too many times to count by now. But somewhere in his subconscious those images of him still existed, and with every shout he heard Natasha make, the louder the disappointment and outright fear rung in his ears.

Tony stayed where he previously fell, his body frozen but his mind rushing to find a way out of the small room. The room was supposed to be impervious to sound, and yet he could hear each grunt and shout Natasha made or managed to get out of Steve. The fight was going on for more time than Tony could've imagined, and he hoped it was due to either of them holding their punches. Despite everything, he didn't want to be the reason for the team's downfall, he didn't want to be the one to tear them apart and pit friends against each other.

It would've been better if he'd just died under that blasted building, if Steve had never been exposed for what he truly was, and could still be part of the team – it would have been better in the long run, the world needed Captain America more than it needed Tony Stark or Iron man or both of them combined. And Steve was right – he wasn't fit to even carry those names now, in this state. It would have been better to have died a hero than be reduced to this, and by insisting on staying alive he was inviting this suffering upon himself, time and time again.

Tony nearly missed the sound of something clashing against the wall besides him while wallowing in piteous self-hatred, he did not, however, miss the chirping and clicking made by the thing that created the clash after getting shot out of the small ventilation chute at incredible speed, then hovered while barely keeping its battered form in the air in a jumpy circle around Tony's head, like a cartoon bird circling a disoriented character, which was a rather precise analogy, as it were.

It took Tony a couple of seconds to comprehend what was happening. The little sphere chirped excitedly in his ears for several seconds before he managed to recognize it as the prototype robot Rhodey had shown him, it was a little dented at places, rough handling messing up the perfect metal-work Rhodey had been right to be so proud of – and it was there, now descending into his casted hands, warming the exposed bits of grimy skin as it purred mechanically.

He nearly forgot how much he loved the sounds machines made.

"Put in the most advanced anti-biological warfare tech available into the ventilation systems… made sure the chutes were too small for humans…" he recounted, "didn't… take tiny toy robots into account though…" he barked out a laugh, recognizing how ridiculous the situation was. It was still helpless – nothing could help him get out of that room, even if he took the robot apart for parts there would be nothing he could do with them as he had no access to the facility systems, and the simple toy barely had an operating system installed on it. It was basically worthless.

And yet… it found him. Tony swallowed down the sob that threatened to breach through his lips as he stared at the toy. Intrigue momentarily replacing helplessness. It got inside the facility, maybe it was the enabler of Natasha's entrance and current fight with Steve in the next room. How? He recalled it being low-tech, he never had the chance to hook up Jarvis into it in order to really add some of that Stark magic his company – and he himself- prided itself with in its products. It shouldn't have been able to get in at all.

"Version check please." He muttered, watching as the sphere opened to reveal a small, cracked screen. It blinked a few times before finally lighting up and showing him the data on the chipset Rhodey had used, he surveyed it shortly while ignoring his budding headache. As he thought, the little Sphere was way too low tech to be able to do anything even if it could connect to the house systems, which Tony knew would have been extremely difficult, unless it had very precise directions. He breathed in and swallowed down the sob that formed in his throat. "Hey buddy…"

The screen blinked again, and Tony tried to smile without breaking into a fit of tears when a camera flash nearly blinded him, right before words started forming on the screen. The sphere chirped excitedly and bounced in the air, making it hard to read, but Tony knew what was written regardless.

"Yeah…" He swallowed, his throat dry. "Tell… Tell everyone I'm sorry, okay? I… I tried, I really wanted… but… I don't think I'll be coming home again. Rhodey—he will take care of you, and Pepper too, the tower is theirs, okay? Everything is theirs." it was becoming so hard to breath, he needed the machine to do it but hadn't the strength to crawl over to it. He felt weighed down, and the walls… they were closing in on him, the room felt so much smaller suddenly, but the distance from where he had sprawled when he fell to the machine and nest of blankets seemed to only get much bigger.

The words on the screen told him help was coming, and filled with calculations of the chances of him being rescued in the next few moments. Tony wondered what variables his AI was using, and considered making a snide remark about it being arbitrary and without cause – but he was just too tired to do that, and wanted nothing but to get under the layers of blankets and drown in their comfort again, forget that he'd ever heard what was going on out there and gotten his hopes up.

Somehow, he knew that once he went to sleep he would not get up again. Be it because Steve would definitely kill him once he was done with Natasha, or because his body was at the last stages of complete failure, there was no doubt anymore that those were his last moments awake ever again.

The robot stopped his chirping and jumping around. It closed the hatch of the screen that had blinked shut at Tony's words and settled, almost like a very round, small kitten, next to his chest on the floor, and Tony took his final comfort in its vibration and warmth against his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might be last?? I don't know. anyway it might take some time to be done for "I'm studying animation and time is fake" reasons. Thank you for your patience ♥


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm nearly done. the last chapter was getting long so I decided to split it and give you a part of it already.

 He could still feel the rage through him, hot, green and flowing through his veins, burning through them, he could still feel it even as he got smaller and his skin turned pink rather than green and the urge to smash everything around was fed to a satisfying extent. The beast growled within him, wanting more, not knowing what of, who it needed to destroy, but wanting to.

He watched, shivers moving up and down his spine and breathing hitched as Clint brought Natasha out of the cabin, her arm dangling at her side and bruises forming on the bared flesh of her neck and jaw, he hurried to their side, pushing down the hatred and rage that flooded his body the best he could – now wasn't the time.

The doors remained glaringly open, waiting for them all to come inside and face the reality of what happened in a raw and direct manner that they had the privilege to willfully ignore until that very moment. He saw from the corner of his eyes the people who chose to go down that rabbit hole, both Wilson and Rhodes with nearly no hesitation going down to find each their lost best friend. He knew only one of them would come up with someone, and that they both remained lost regardless.

Bruce looked over Natasha's body, finding more and more evidence of the brutality with which she was struck time after time, the lacerations that were left on her body from contacting the sharp edge of the vibranium shield, and the nearly smashed bones that would be untreatable by regular means. It was a wonder that she managed to remain awake – nevertheless he met her eyes and silently asked for permission before cutting the fabric of her shirt and splinting the dangling arm. He was done just in time to see Wilson dragging Steve's inanimate form through the opened door looking bloody and beaten in a way he suspected the two spies could not have caused, and just barely notice the gun Sam held, aimed perfectly for Steve's knee for the possibility he might wake up and try to run, or worse.

"We should get him into custody as soon as possible," Clint said once Bruce was done treating his wounds – a sprained ankle and some fractured ribs, but otherwise in a much better shape than both Natasha and Steve, he wasn't part of the fight for as long as either of them, and he had the element of surprise on his side once he re-joined it. "We need, need to get Nat to a hospital, and we need to lock… lock _him_ up as soon as possible, we have no time to loiter around." He got up, balancing his entire weight on his good leg as if intending to walk right back inside and pull Rhodes out by the ear if he had to.

"The medical facilities at the tower are ready for you, Mr. Barton." said Jarvis through their comms, "The quinjet will take you there right now, you as well, Dr. Banner, Mr. Odinson and Mr. Wilson." The AI's voice was as calm as ever, it was hard to tell if it was agitated or even sad about them not finding Tony.

"Jim is-" Sam started, looking at the cabin with troubled eyes, "I should go get him-"

"That will not be necessary, Mr. Wilson. The Colonel asked me to inform you that he will be making his own way back to the city. Please report to the quinjet immediately." The AI's voice cut off after those words, leaving the team looking at each other miserably.

 

He didn't recognize him at first. He knew it was him, there wasn't anyone else it could have been, and Jarvis confirmed it. They were wrong, he was… he was wrong, when the doubt reared its ugly head and crawled around in his mind, he'd been wrong, and just a little bit right as well - to trust in the sheer stubbornness of Tony Stark.

It took time. Jarvis had to explain several times how to get to the concealed entrance to the room, guide him through a convoluted set of tunnels that started with a secret door in the floor in the living area, and continued for a while. The updated floor plans Jarvis sent to his armor stated the room ended up being right next to the living area, but as the AI slowly and calmly explained – breaking a wall could result in a disaster as the still did not know the exact layout and where Tony was actually at, and pulling a door off its hinges would be far less risky, so they took the longer path.

He halted when the door was in front of him, somehow, Jarvis seemed to be just as much as a nervous wreck as he was. "I cannot determine Sir's status." He offered in a muted tone, "The room has no sensors, Sir has not spoken for the last forty-five minutes, his survival chance at last contact stood at 0.0012%."

Rhodey breathed in deeply. He resisted the urge to ask the AI on what data he based his calculations, what were the variables he used. "It's okay, I'm nervous too." He assured the babbling AI, "It's… it's going to be okay, Jarvis, I…" He couldn't promise, not when his hands were shaking as he aimed their gauntlet clad form at the door, closing his eyes as the repulsors charged, unwilling to see the sight inside. He couldn't promise the AI that they would find Tony alive and well, not when he didn't believe it completely himself anymore. And if they didn't… what then? what could he do?

The repulsor ray hit the door once, then it hit it another time. The door wasn't as heavy and enforced as the main entrance to the cabin was, on account of it being hidden so thoroughly. It came down when he shot both of his gauntlet repulsors at the same time, the third time. Rhodey kept his eyes closed a few more seconds, staying rooted where he stood as the dust settled and inhaling the filtered air his suit provided. A he opened his eyes, his mask receded and revealed him to the mostly empty room. The walls were white and padded to stop the dweller of the room from harming himself, on the far side, there was what looked like a nest of dirty blanket and some pillows, and next to them was a small breathing machine, but no one was using it at the moment.

Rhodey inhaled again and blinked, from where he was standing at the entrance he could not see the entire room, so just because it looked empty, didn't mean it really was. The armor was too big to fit through the door, so he didn't try to enter until he was released from it, somehow it seemed that rushing in into the room just to find it empty, or worse… it would be horrible, he couldn't do it like that, he had to be prepared.

But no amount of preparation could help him process what he saw when he came into the room, nothing could ready him to the sight forced on him or to the reaction of his body to its existence. He couldn't control the gritting of teeth at the sight of the nearly skeletal body and the visibly distorted arm in an insufficient and dirty cast that could do no more for its recovery than leaving it bare could, he couldn't stop the tears at the sight of  deep colored bruises on far too pale skin, he couldn't stop the turmoil of his stomach culminating finally into a gag in his throat when his eyes finally caught on and reached the face of the body he was looking at, unable to make a connection to who he knew as Tony Stark.

"Jarvis…" he exhaled, "status?" his voice broke mid word as he took step after cautious step towards the body curled up on the floor, he could hear the war machine armor turning its head as it mapped and scanned the room.

"Life signs found," relief washed over him and he hastened his steps at once, falling to his knees besides Tony's body, "However, extremely feint, breathing is erratic and heart rate is too fast, might be heading for failure." The AI paused, "Sir requires extensive emergency care as soon as possible, Colonel."

Rhodey kept quiet for a moment, looking at his friend's unconscious face partially hidden behind grown out bangs of hair. He was clean shaven, and Rhodey was thrown back years just by looking at him. The removal of his facial hair, which Rhodey had no qualms about calling ridiculous – combined with the reduction of his body mass, resulted in a ten years younger looking man more similar to the boy he spent his precious time doting on all through college, than any version of adult Tony stark he could think of.

"Jarvis, summon an armor that has a cloaking technology over here. I know Tony made one." He said softly, "the mansion… Stark Mansion, is it empty now?" some of the tension in Tony's muscles relaxed under his touch, the wrinkles in his furrowed brow smoothed as Rhodey spoke, and he wasn't sure if it was because Tony subconsciously knew that he was being rescued, or because his body was failing and had no strength to keep the tension in his muscles any longer. When the AI replied positively he got up and gathered Tony from the floor, he was lighter than he ever could have anticipated, and his body was limp in his arms.

He took him to where the breathing machine stood and placed the mask over his mouth, watching as small bouts of steam covered the clear plastic as Tony took in the oxygen before letting it out again, nearly invisibly breathing. "Call Pepper, tell her… but no one else. No avengers, no press… just Pepper." He whispered as he sat down and placed Tony's head in his lap. "Tell her where we are going, but she shouldn't come over, not yet."

 Tony's body, which was until that moment still as a stone, twitched in his arms. Rhodey perked up and stared as Tony's eyelids fluttered, he whispered his name once, stroking his hand down Tony's nape and his shoulder, comforting. "it's ok, all good… save your strength princess." He said with a smile when Tony opened his eyes, his breathing picked up a faster pace. For whatever reason, he became distressed by the sight of Rhodey's face, and he couldn't help but feel a little bit insulted. "It's me, Tones. Couldn't let you die and leave me and Pepper behind to handle all your shit, could I? It's ok, you're safe… it's ok…"

Tony seemed to relax a fair amount at his words, and Rhodey smiled down at him as he fell asleep again when he finally heard the sound of the repulsors that indicated an Iron Man armor arrival. This armor was smaller than War Machine, and Jarvis piloted it into the room with little difficulty. It's face unnervingly glared at them before the mask retracted and the front plates of the armor opened to accommodate a body.

Rhodey looked at the armor and then at Tony and for a moment a doubtful shudder run up his back. The Armor could well enough become a coffin if they didn't hurry and the Idea suddenly turned terrifying. He sighed. "Okay Tones, it's not going to be a comfortable ride, but it's the best we've got right now." He lifted Tony and put him into the space, finding himself horrified at how small Tony looked inside the suit. Tony made them to fit him, so when they didn't it looked outright grotesque. "Jarvis, find a small hospital, preferably one that can use a new wing or renovation. I'm gonna need to bribe some people and I'd rather make it easier."

It took for Tony to survive another two weeks in intensive care before Rhodey could sleep through an entire night without getting anxious about something bad happening, this time he had not left the small room where Tony was fighting for his life unless Happy was there to replace him, Pepper came by whenever she could escape the press that harassed her about the situation – asking about a funeral, and the state of Stark industries as rumors of Tony's demise caused it's shares to plummet. She sat by Tony's bed and reprimanded him for putting her in that position, begging for him to recover soon.

Three weeks more passed before Rhodey could take Tony home, his childhood home – the mansion. It was prepared for their arrival by Jarvis and Pepper, who hired a team of specialists – Doctors and nurses and therapists, and equipped Tony's room – once one of his mother's rooms, with SI's latest line of medical technologies. The hospital was paid off to keep quiet about Tony's condition to the media, both in the form of a grant for a new wing, equipped with that same line of Stark tech, and the individual pay-off for Doctors and nurses who came in touch with Tony or Rhodey. Tony's current state of being alive never left the hospital room nor his room at the mansion, and as far as Rhodey was concerned, it could stay that way.

 

"You never told them you found me." Tony said, carefully, as Rhodey came to sit by his bed, holding on his lap a tray with a varied breakfast on it, for his own sake, as Tony was still being given nutrition through a tube. Tony didn't even look at the food. "They don't even know I'm alive yet... I knew you can be petty, Honey-bear, but that is…" he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, "I don't know if I should be mad or… or thank you…"

"Thank me, definitely." Rhodey shot back, taking a bite of the buttered bread in his hand, "They can find out with the rest of the world, when you are better." He peered at Tony through half lidded eyes, finding him staring back at him with a hint of horror. "You are going to get better, Tones. You promised me."

"I… I don't…" Tony closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He made too many promises that he couldn't keep, promises he didn't remember making. He knew Rhodey would not lie to him about making them, but his mind pushed the idea of making them into an abyss of uncertainty. "Tell me… tell me again, please." He exhaled the words and looked up to his best friend, who was eating his breakfast in silent, without meeting eyes with him.

"Okay Tony…" Rhodey said, putting down his fork. "You have been gone for two months." He began, watching Tony wince and close his eyes, scrunching his face to keep them shut. "Maybe we shouldn't do this today, Tones… you know the story."

Tony looked at him, his big eyes full of misery. "I forget. Please, please…" he wasn't lying, his memory was fickle, his mind refused to process the things he heard, like the duration of it all. Two months just seemed too much time, and then not enough time at all. Bits and pieces of everything that happened, all the times Steve touched him, all the times he stopped breathing or tried to resist, all the times he gave up… there were so many of them, different and the same, melding into just one moment one time, and splitting up into more and more moments another time.

"You just want me to tell you how amazingly skilled you are at creating things that risk your life." Rhodey chided in good spirit, "That cabin was impossible to find, Tones, seriously. You gotta let your enemies get at least a clue if you want things to be interesting… and then getting in, if Natasha hadn't been touched by a divine spirit of wisdom and sent in the robot through the vents, it wouldn't have happened…" his voice turned soft. "Natasha and Barton managed to knock him out, I think it was Natasha who finally did him in with those electrified batons you made for her, I didn't bother to check when I came in."

Tony's eyes focused on him, glazed over for a moment, then recovered as he smirked and then chuckled grimly, "No… But you did… you did make sure… he stayed down. Right?" Tony licked his lips, his head hurt trying to recall what Rhodey told him about that moment, when he saw Steve's face and just… couldn't help his rage. Normally he wouldn't have had a hard time imagining it, but nothing was normal anymore.

"Yeah…" Rhodey paused and looked at him, then he got up. "If not for the serum, he would still be sporting a shiner the size of War Machine's fist."

Tony chuckled again, then he stopped abruptly, his head hanging and his eyes shut again, an expression Rhodey learned to recognize as representing immeasurable pain came on his features. "Platypus…" he whispered when Rhodey put away his tray and hurried to sit on the bed by his side, his arms wrapping around Tony's neck and head as he pulled his close against him, He started humming a quiet tune his mother used to sing to comfort his shivering friend. "My hands… Th-they don't… feel right…"

Rhodey tightened his grip as he listened to Tony's rambles and quiet sobbing. His best friend wasn't the same person. Not like he wasn't the same person after Afghanistan, or after New York – both have left a visible crack in his friend's armor, and on his soul. This time it was nowhere near being just a crack, it shattered him in and out, leaving jagged pieces to be picked up and reassembled excruciatingly slowly, and as time went by Rhodey became more and more convinced that too many pieces were missing now for it to ever be possible. He resented the thought, told Pepper and Happy and the crew of private therapists and doctors who unknowingly tried to convince him to not get his hopes up, not understanding that his hopes shattered the moment he saw Tony in the padded room, He told all of them, and most of all to himself, that it was wrong. That Tony was strong enough to overcome. Tony was invincible.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. YES. another not last chapter. why are endings so hard.
> 
> I meant for chapter 20 to be the last chapter, but then it got so much longer than I planned, so consider this ending part 1?

Steve sat, still as a statue inside the enforced glass cell. It was the same material they have used to hold the Hulk, and Steve's strength could not fracture it – not for lack of trying. Getting zapped every time he tried was not helping either. Eventually, convinced that this was just a minor setback, he stopped his effort and started looking for other ways out, instead.

As he did to Tony, they made sure to deprive him of anything that could be used to commit suicide. With Tony being dead, that would've been the only way for him to get him back – but he was not in a hurry to die. He still had to find Bucky before that, couldn't leave him under Hydra's control. He had to give his friend a chance at life before he ended his own and joined Tony. He knew without a doubt that Tony would wait for him, wherever he was, his dreams assured him – dreams of the first time, the smile on Tony's face when he moaned his name, his slack hands trying to hold him closer, patting his skin urgently as the loved. He told him he loved him back in those dreams, and Steve believed it couldn't be anything but the truth, because now Tony had no more reasons to lie to him.

Bruce came by a few times, he never spoke to him, and as Steve would ask after Natasha and Clint, or comment on the greenish hue of his skin as he drew Steve's blood and jotted down notes, he always got the same reaction – a sharp look, tinted radioactive green, and silence. The rest of the team never appeared, not even Sam or Natasha, though perhaps she was a given, considering their last encounter.

"When are you letting me out of here, Bruce?" he asked the next time the Doctor came into the room, and was met with silence again. "You can't just keep me in a cage, Tony would've told you – the world –"

"Is doing well enough without Captain America." Bruce spat, his stature seemed a bit bigger, and his skin a bit greener, before he inhaled and exhaled slowly and calmed down, "the world doesn't need a murderer, a… a rapist… claiming to protect it."

Steve gritted his teeth in annoyance. They still went on with this belief, then? he was getting tired of it. "regardless of what you believe I've done, you can't just keep me here without due process. I haven't seen a lawyer, much less given my day in court, this is a violation of my rights. You know all about it, don't you? We both know who between the two of us this cell was meant for."

Bruce's glare was icy and hard, and as he got up from the stool he sat on while taking Steve's blood, he was shivering with rage. "Rights? Steve, do you even realize what you've done? You dare talk about rights after you stripped another human being of his? As for the purpose of this cell – it is meant to hold dangerous things that pose a threat to others. between the two of us, the one whose lack of self-control caused the death of our teammate was not colored green."

With that he left the room, not allowing Steve to insert another word into the conversation. If he did, Steve would've enthusiastically explain to him that he did not cause Tony's death, he prevented it. He saved Tony after he was crushed, he helped keep him alive until rescue came. He would've reminded Bruce that he himself said that without Steve's intervention, Tony would've died back then, and none of them would've gotten to say goodbye.

He would've told Bruce about all the times Tony tried to kill himself in the cabin, and how he stopped him time after time, saved him from the self-destructive tendencies he possessed, how he pushed away the inevitable by caring for him in a way that none of them would, even when it meant to dare use some force to get Tony to comply against his nature. Steve kept him alive, but he also instilled humility in the egocentric avenger, something that was ought to be done long ago.

And lastly, he would tell him that any harm that finally came to Tony could have been avoided, had the Avengers simply left them alone.

Instead, all the words remained inside his mind, boiling and turning into rage like water turns to fumes.

 

"You can't keep him detained any longer. This is an undebatable fact." The tower's conference room had not seen light nor a decent cleaning for some months. But it was not that fact that made the air in it dense and almost unbreathable, rather, it was the heavy and disturbing presence of General Ross and his henchmen, who stood by his sides like sentinel golems. Natasha stood, her lean against the glass of the giant window stiff and her recently de-casted arm tucked securely behind her back, she closed her eyes as he mentioned lawyers, courts, the constitution and the people's needs one after the other, as if any of that changed anything about what happened, about what Steve has done or what he deserved for it. "It's been three months, your team is no longer a reliable force of protection against threats since most of your best fighters are gone doing who knows what, and one of them you keep in a cell!" Ross fumed, his face turning red as he exchanged meaningful looks with one of his minions, who nodded and left the room, "We have Hydra and the Ten Rings messing with delicate operations around the world. Iron man and Iron Patriot dropped off the map, the Avengers can't function on the merit of three light-weight fighters and one unreliable monster and no leadership whatsoever! We need Captain America to come back."

"Haven't you heard anything we told you?" Clint hissed from the other side of the room, "Did you even look at the pictures? That man is deranged, he killed Tony Stark. And you want him out there?"

Ross gave him an unimpressed look. "There was never a body produced to prove that Tony Stark is truly dead." He stated, "As I understand it, they had a lover's quarrel, and Stark, being the irresponsible rascal that he is, fled somewhere in the world to not deal with it. Rogers was upset and you attacking him and refusing to hear anything he had to say didn't help." He ignored the scandalized looks on the faces of the two spies, "Steve Rogers is a pinnacle of human perfection, the perfect weapon and a damn good soldier and commander. He, of all people, does not deserve to be in that cell for something as minor as disagreeing with Stark's sensibilities."

Clint got up from where he sat, grasping one of his arrows in his palm so tightly it's metallic form bended a little bit. "If you expect any of us to work with that sick, disgusting rapist-"

"the word you're looking for is 'Hero', Mr. Barton." Ross reproached, "what he does with his lovers in his own free time has nothing to do with his purpose as an American Hero and protector of the people, but don't worry. I will not force you. You may retire if you wish. The government prefers a specialized squad led by the Captain than a ragtag group of spies and monsters."

The two spies exchanged looks, then Natasha moved toward Ross while Clint went back to his sit glumly. "We will release everything we found out to the press, Stark industries will make an announcement sooner or later too. People will not welcome him back so easily." She said quietly, to which Ross replied with a bark of laughter.

"Have at it, Romanoff.  See how well it works for you."

 

Tony worked. He used to love working, used to lose his head and sense of time in a flurry of ideas and thoughts. He used to produce plans and prototypes by simply being in a workshop, but now it felt like a roadblock was permanently set inside his mind, so work meant letting Jarvis do simple calculations he used to be able to do in his sleep while he watched the news and tinkered absent-mindedly with a piece of tech he could not remember the purpose of.

Stark industries were in trouble, the board was trying to push Pepper out from her position, now that he was gone. It was an opportunity for them – Pepper was now the only person in a powerful enough position to maintain the strict "No-Weapons" policies he put in place, she was citing his wants as cause to continue in the line of clean energy, medical technology, prosthesis and research for the betterment of the world, but without producing his actual will, they had to take only her word for it. And it stopped being enough.

" _Miss Potts and Tony Stark have not been involved romantically for some time now, so how can she claim to know his heart desires_?" said one pundit, his flat face and sweaty complexion caused a sense of revulsion in Tony, as he set his jaw in annoyance. _"If anything, we should ask ourselves if she is not holding back SI as payback for Mr. Stark dumping her-"_ Tony threw the piece of tech at the screen, it bounced off it without causing damage to the glass and the commentator kept of spewing nonsense uninterrupted, " _It's been months since Mr. Stark's disappearance, and we're expected to believe that he is dead, but there was no funeral held, and no will came up during all of that time. This seems to me like an elaborate scam-"_

Tony got up and moved away from the TV, instead he picked up a StarkPad and looked at the silent calculations Jarvis was making as they happened. He understood some of them, but as always, the rest caused him to develop a migraine as his mind tried to access old information that long since been corrupted or overwritten with new information – _Steve_ \- He put the tablet away – _blue, cold…_ \- the TV's voice becoming louder to his ears as the hyper-sensitivity that came with the migraines intensified.

"Jarvis… c-call… Rhodey…" He whispered as he absent-mindedly tried to make sense of the words spoken by the TV's newscaster. A serious misconduct within the ranks of the Avengers, no one knows where Captain America is, rumors of a violent confrontation. _Can they be trusted with our safety? Possible disbanding? The Asgardian alien went back to his home-world, War machine resigned, leaked video allegedly shows_ -

"Tones… shit, you're not supposed to be out of bed yet." Rhodey was by his side, on the floor for some reason, cradling his head close to his abdomen. Tony made a disapproving groan and nuzzled Rhodey's thigh. He pouted when Rhodey grunted at the gesture.

"Don't be mad, platypus… I needed… I needed to work. Do something. I can't… be in just that room all the time." Rhodey didn't answer, his fingers moved through Tony's - much in need of a haircut - hair gently, and Tony knew he understood and will not further reprimand him on getting up. "I couldn't make anything…" he whispered, "It's gone, everything… just blank, not there anymore."

Again, silence from Rhodey. It was becoming annoying. "This is the point when you tell me everything is going to be fine and remind me of that time in MIT when I failed one test and thought the world was going to explode, Honey bear." He prompted, turning to look at…

Steve. His blue eyes cold and his lips curled up in a pale mock of a smile.

A shriek so high left Tony's mouth as he woke up in the bed that used to belong to his parents - he managed to scare the night nurse, who fled from the room immediately. Presumably to recruit a demon exterminator to exorcise him. He inhaled and exhaled rapidly, looking around him to assure himself that he was, in fact, safe. It was hard in that room, with the portraits of his parents looking down at him from the walls. Rhodey chose the room because it was large and had space to accommodate all the necessary medical equipment, at the time he didn't think about the nature of Tony's relationship with his parents, it wasn't relevant as long as he was in a life-threatening situation, but now… all he wanted was to be out of there. Not to feel his father's painted eyes, harsh and full of judgment even in paint stare at him.

His father created the monster that plagued his dreams. Clearly his life was more fucked up than he could ever have imagined.

Coming out of a detached moment of thought, Tony was tuning in to a conversation being held outside the door, the voices were both harsh whispers, two people shouting very quietly at each other, unaware that speaking normally would probably have had the exact same effect.

"We don't know if he would ever be ready, but we can't just… just expect the world to stop until then." Pepper's voice was tired, but firm. "Natasha came to me with questions, Jim… and the company… they are all trying to find out-"

"They will when Tony is up to it, we agreed on that!" Rhodey snaps at the middle of her sentence, and Tony can almost hear the stern look she'd have given him, being the recipient of such a look several times in the past.

"People are already calling us out for lying to the public about his whereabouts, to them no statement at all _is_ a statement. Whatever remains of the Avengers already told the public that Iron man is dead, people believe that. Waiting any longer to reveal the truth would just hurt Tony."

Rhodey kept quiet, and once again Tony could imagine just perfectly the tightening of the muscles on his shoulders, the set of his jaw in anger, and the final resignation. "he will be hurt regardless…" he said, this time in his normal voice. "Don't you see? The news, the papers… they all look at the leaked video and call it a freaking sex tape, calling it a romance gone wrong. They are calling for that… monster's release." He paused and breathed in. "What if he does get released, Pepper? What if Natasha is not enough to keep him locked up? I don't… how will I look Tony in the eyes?  How will we protect him?"

Fear settled deep in Tony's gut. 'Protect him'? did that mean he'd have to stay inside, closed off from the world again? Rhodey would not do that to him, he would not force him to stay. Of course not. But if Steve was out there, if he was coming for him… what else? Three suits of armor could not keep him safe, Rhodey could not stay by his side all the time, Rhodey could not stand against Steve, the super soldier, the American Icon that was loved and revered as a hero still if he came for them. He would get hurt again because of him, because he was protecting him…

Tony was not going to just sit still and wait for that to happen. He wasn't going to stay inside, punishing and condemning himself and the people close to him to a life of fear –

"Tony!" Rhodey hurried to his side, and he quickly realized the urgency was due to the tears streaming down his face when the first whimper left his lips, followed by a chain of wails as Rhodey hugged him close to his chest again, warm and comforting and there, ready to protect him through everything.

Tony promised himself that there would be no need for that.

 

"Mr Stark!"

"Where were you?"

"How long have you and captain America been dating?"

"Why did you lie to everyone about being dead?"

Tony swept through the masses. Journalists and cameras surrounded him, flashed bright lights even his sunglasses could not filter, yelled questions, so many misguided questions – and the worst of all, still- tried to touch him.

He arrived at the podium, his breath short in his chest, a special inhaler he designed for himself over the course of two weeks - _in the past it would have taken a few hours, maybe_ \- sat in his dash pocket for an emergency, he preferred not to use it in front of all those people.

He thanked Pepper, who looked at him with concern as he swept through, continuously talking about the innovation of SI and the future of the company before announcing his return and introducing him with a breakable smile. Tony hugged her as they switched places – a long, warm hug, leaving no place for doubt about their status as close friends.

Tony cleared his throat and stood quietly, waiting for the crowd to calm down before speaking.

"Hi, everyone." He started, hesitation sneaking into his voice as he felt his legs shiver under him. His eyes searched the audience, searching for a pair of blue, icy eyes. He breathed in and smiled shakily. This used to come so naturally to him. He came back from three months captivity in a cave and came back directly into one of these to announce the thing that started the sharp turn of fate he'd taken upon himself–

"You would have to forgive me if I seem a little bit off today." He said in a joking tone, "the subject of this press conference is of a rather… delicate matter, and very personal."

If before there were whispers of speculation still making rounds, now the audience fell entirely silent, waiting in anticipation for him to talk. From the corner of his eye Tony captured the doors open, and saw the curly red hair of Natasha as she hurried inside, finding the horrified, angry stare she froze while bearing.

He hoped to have made that reunion less public.

"You have all heard the rumors." Tony stated. Increasing the volume of his voice to boost his own confidence in the words he was saying. "You heard the announcements, and the speculation. I am here today to set the record straight, and to… well, I'll keep that one until the end." He winked, earning an uncomfortable silence from everyone in the room.

"Uh, yeah, so… everyone lost their sense of humor while I was gone, huh." He said, scrunching his eyebrows. "Anyway. Here it is. I am not dead. That is obvious, obviously. However, the announcement made by the Avengers was, while misguided, not false.  I have severed my personal ties to the organization, SI will of course continue to support the operation financially to create a safer future for everyone, to the best of our ability, however, Iron man, War machine, and all such developments under my name will no longer participate in the organization's operations. I may not be dead, but as of…" Tony looked at his wristwatch thoughtfully, "Four months ago, I am retired from the Avengers, for good."

He waited until the audience got their shit together, it took some time. During the chaos, he allowed himself to breath in and exhale slowly, attempting to calm his racing heart. He didn't listen to the questions posed to him at all.

"Okay," he smiled, "That went smoothly, didn't it? Wait until you hear the next one."

 

In his car, Natasha was already waiting in the back seat when he got in, frightening Happy who had just finished fending off the swarms of journalist who were not satisfied with the announcements he'd given already, looking for another scoop, another comment.

He only stopped threatening her when Tony shook his head at him, telling him this was not worth the effort.

Tony was not surprised to find her there. He was, however, entirely too tired and weary of having that conversation.

He pulled out his inhaler as he sat down, ignoring her piercing gaze as he took oxygen-enriched air deep into his lungs. She waited until he was done, surveying him from head to toe while Happy started the car despite her presence, determined to get them out of the lion's pit as soon as possible.

She finally lost her patience when Tony put back the inhaler and took out his phone, instead. It was already bombarded with any mention of his name Jarvis had encountered online, and about fifty new messages from each one of the remaining Avengers – sans Steve.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice cold, emotionless. "You do a good impression, but-"

His patience for such nonsense was long gone. "Cut the crap, Rushman." He said, mockingly using the name she used to infiltrate his company years before. It was all that was needed for her eyes to soften, and for her arms to envelope him in a loose, hesitant hug. He sighed. "Not too tight… I'm still not… not whole." He murmured.

"I'm sorry." Her voice when she sobbed in his ear was something Tony was certain he'd never get to hear, but there it was. And he couldn't even feel a bit smug about it.

He knew she could tell when he was using his Press smile, so he didn't try to use it on her just for the sake of fake comfort. He kept stroking her hair and letting her stay close as the car sled across the road in relative silence, until they arrived at the Avengers tower.

"They are letting him go tomorrow." She said, both of them standing, leaning on his car. Happy went to buy coffee and donuts at a nearby store that Tony used to love, to let them reminisce. Instead they stood, mostly in silence, and looked up at his creation.

"I know." He said, and absent mindedly took a whiff from the inhaler, for which he needed to find a more proper name. "And I know you did what you did to keep that from happening. And I know you are not sorry for doing what was necessary. I don't… blame you, if that helps somehow. I don't blame anyone."

She kept quiet for a moment, perhaps trying to regain her composure. "You chose the worst time to come back from the dead. He will come after you again."

The silence between them remained consistent for several more moments, and just as they saw Happy draw closer to them with a carton box bigger than his head, presumably full of donuts, Tony broke it.

"I am counting on it."


	21. Chapter 21

 

 

The apartment Ross housed him in was nice. Basic, like the one he used before Shield fell - before he moved into the Avengers tower. It obviously wasn't as nice as his room over there - which Tony gave him freedom and money to furnish as he liked - and it barely had space to hold his art supplies, which, now that he thought of it, were still at the tower. He didn't have time to bring them with him to the cabin, he hadn't thought about drawing at all during the time he took care of Tony.

Maybe he should've painted, Tony loved his art, didn't he? He had those doodles of the avengers hanged up in the common room. It was something to consider, for next time.

Ross had someone explain to him his new statues, reinstated with the military – which was the term for his immediate release from the custody of the Avengers and for resources to go after Bucky – he was not yet free to go wherever he wanted, there was actually a hearing going on about that, they were working on it.

The Avengers kept insisting that he was dangerous. Stark industries were pouring money into the efforts of lobbying against him. Thankfully, the people did not agree. It was in the news almost daily. Tony's Press conference when he came back from the dead got dissected, every detail about his looks, his words, and even the watch he wore on his wrist were supposedly meaningful enough to warrant a panel of men discussing it at length for hours, all getting it wrong. The billionaire's refusal to give further comments on the matter has given even more fuel to the conspiracy theorists.

" _All I'm saying is, there is a sex-video leaked revealing Stark as a closeted homosexual, then he fakes his death, quits the Avengers and accuses freaking Captain America of… I don't even know what to call it, really! And that doesn't seem shady to you?"_

The voice of the television continued to rumble when the door suddenly opened. Steve did not expect visitors, subconsciously, he prepared himself for a fight as he turned to watch Sam come in with a large carton box in his hands. placated, Steve smiled at him in gratitude, then frowned when Sam physically recoiled and looked away from him as he put it down on the kitchen table.

"Nobody else agreed to come over here to give you those… your things from the tower; Some art supplies, and clothes, and… the fucking uniform." He looked disgusted as he said the words, his hands leaving the box as if touching it burned them. "The uniform you don't deserve to wear."

"Come on, Sam…" Steve tried coaxing, another smile finding its way to his lips, "You don't mean that. I'm not mad, we are still friends, right? I can talk to Ross, we can put together a better team, New and better Avengers – you and me and Bucky-"

Sam still didn't look at him as he turned to leave the room, but still Steve managed to see the anger in his gestures perfectly, the tension in his muscles as he held himself from confronting Steve or even answering him properly. The man stopped just before leaving the room and took in a deep breath.

"You come near the tower – near Stark, and I'll bash your head in with your own fucking shield, man." He said, and left, shutting the door just a bit too harshly behind him.

Steve had gotten similar lectures from all the other Avengers as they all came to his cell to threaten him hours before his release. He received their verbal abuse quietly, knowing it held no merit. And as for Tony? Obviously, none of them knew him very well. It was clear to Steve, at the very least, that very soon he will get to see him again. Tony was not going to be able to stay away.

All he had to do was wait patiently a while.

Of course, if Tony chose not to come, then he would have to go to him, they had to have communication between them if they ever wanted the relationship to work out, they had to meet.

And it was going to work out. Once Steve found Bucky, like he promised himself in that cell, he was going to make it work with Tony.

He didn't get a chance to do either.

There was something deeply provoking in hearing Ross telling him, about a month after his release, that Bucky had been brought in before he ever had a chance to go look for him again, and by none other than Colonel James Rhodes.

The ex-Avenger has apparently focused his efforts on diplomacy overseas, where he used his influence and commanding expertise to consult foreign governments on bringing in Hydra Cells currently operating on their turf. Rhodes found Bucky in Budapest, recognized him and managed to get him back to the US safely and under the military's and the press's noses.

The only reason Ross knew was because Rhodes decided it was better that Steve knew and stayed put instead of going out to search for his best friend aimlessly.

Bucky was admitted into a private mental facility, his care funded by a Stark Industries charity fund. It was all done under the radar, far from prying eyes. And Steve knew, he just did – this was done by Tony, a grand gesture like he loved to do to show his devotion. Another voice, smaller and definitely more annoying, tried to convince him that maybe it was the other way around. Maybe Stark held Bucky as leverage against him, a misguided attempt at provoking him. But even if it was, Steve was far too grateful to fall for it.

He made his way to the facility the next day, given the special clearance needed for him to step out of that apartment. He ignored the small cuff beeping around his ankle as he passed the threshold and sending the information to Ross' people, ignored the voice telling him he was just a puppet for the military to play with, now. Once he and Tony were united again, this was all going to resolve itself.

Bucky was safe, so he could now, faster than expected, begin to work on his plan to get them all out of there, going rogue, working together with the two people he cared for most in the world without the meddling of outside forces, for the betterment of the world like they had always dreamed of, seemed like a nice enough concept.

When he arrived, he was welcomed with a smile and an apology – Mr. Barnes was already having a visitor, and they preferred letting him rest afterwards, as those visits took a lot of his mental energy reserves.

"Another visitor? Who?" Sam, probably. Or Natasha, Natasha knew about Bucky, and about the Winter Soldier more than she let on during the fall of shield. So, it was probably her. Only – it actually wasn't. When the doors to the inner wards of the facility opened and from inside came out Colonel Rhodes in full military attire, holding a file folder and working on a StarkPad with his spare hand. Both of them froze in place when they noticed the other, Rhodes entire body tensed at once, probably remembering the last time he and Steve had a standoff at a hospital waiting room. Steve frowned and folded his hands across his chest, imposing his presence as the smaller man looked at him with cold, thundering eyes.

Tony must have told Rhodes to deliver the news to Steve, because the glare he gave him had no sort of compassion or sympathy in them towards him.

Eventually Rhodes broke his gaze and went hurriedly to the reception desk, putting down his things and smiling at the receptionist calmly. "The Doctor said Mr. Barnes feels much better today, you can let… Rogers… see him for a few minutes." Rhodes said the words begrudgingly, not giving another glance in Steve's direction as he smiled at the receptionist who, in her recognition of the tension between them, eyes Steve suspiciously and looked at Rhodey with a desperate question in her eyes. "but Colonel Rhodes, the regulations! Mr. Barnes is not in a state-"

Rhodey then did turn to look at Steve. His stance bold and steady. "He is here to see his friend after a very long and painful separation, so we are bending the rules a little, a friendly visit could help James get better." He said softly, then turned to smile at her. "It's for Mr. Barnes, Ma'am. Not for anyone else."

The woman eyed Steve, obvious recognition of who he was shown in her attitude. She was not a fan, apparently. "Ok, Colonel. Will we be seeing you again next week?"

Rhodes nodded mutely. "of course, if I'm needed beforehand-"

"We will call you, and notify the foundation." Rhodes nodded, then, he slowly walked by Steve, made no eye contact.

"He doesn't remember you" he said as he passed by him, the corners of his mouth curled downside in a frown. "For his sake, I hope he never would have the misfortune of remembering."

Steve breathed in, not watching as Rhodes disappeared behind the corner leading to the exit. He was getting tired of those transgressions from the colonel. He had tried to be understanding, seeing how this man, for some reason, was one of Tony's friends despite his many offences against him, not limited to stealing the war machine suit. It was becoming too much for him to tolerate any longer. Tony was going to have to stop seeing him and maintaining that toxic relationship if they hoped to fix things between them.

The receptionist coughed and gave him an impatient look, and he smiled at her in return as he came closer to receive a visitor's badge.

After a brief talk with a doctor who had him sign several forms stating that he will listen and follow the Staff's directions and leave when asked to, Steve finally was directed to the room where Bucky was housed. It was a big room, similar to the one Tony used at the hospital in its luxuriousness and size, not at all what one would picture a room in a mental hospital to be like. Steve found that he was thankful for that. Bucky had suffered so much in the last couple of years, he deserved this. It did however make him feel unease, as in a place like this it would be so easy for Hydra to just come in and take him away again.

Had the cabin survived it’s meeting with the Avengers, and not demolished thoughtlessly, Steve could have taken Bucky there, to be secure and taken care of, just like planned by him and Tony before everything went bad.

But it wasn't the time to think about it.

He found Bucky sitting at a large desk, looking over what looked from afar like pictures, his long hair clean and pulled into a messy bun on the top of his head, his skin regained some of the color Steve remembered from their childhoods, and was no longer the pale, ghostly shade of someone who had not seen the sun in seventy years. There was really just one problem with the picture as Steve saw it, one big problem.

 

"Is it paranoia if someone is really coming after you?" The question left Tony's mouth carelessly as he stepped in in the dark common room of his tower, the Avengers tower, the place that was supposed to be their home and refuge. And instead ended up being a lifeless husk, devoid of life and happiness. Now, lights started to turn on with every step he made, systems coming online one after the other as Jarvis took control of them, after having abandoned them when Tony's stuff were moved out by Pepper's people, when everyone still thought he was dead.

"I believe the term you are looking for is 'Taking necessary precautions', Sir." The AI replied, and Tony chuckled.

"Right, right. I forget the proper… proper way to talk, sometimes." He whispered, trying to ignore the shiver passing through him as he passed the kitchen area, looking at the thin layered dust covering the empty counters. He told Pepper to tell Natasha that they could stay there, that the tower was a gift, the Avengers were still needed. But, for each their own reason, everyone ended up leaving eventually. None of them telling anyone where they were going - except for Sam, who joined Rhodey overseas, hunting rampant Hydra agents.

Rhodey didn't want the job at first. Ok, no, FALSE. Rhodey wanted the job. Rhodey wanted to go back to active duty, but he couldn't. because of Tony. because Steve was getting out and Tony couldn't be left alone because he couldn't protect himself any more. It caused a rapture between them, awkward – since Rhodey still refused to leave his side, which Tony resented.

When he gave the press conference, that was apparently the last straw.

"You are fucking insane." Rhodey told him when he came back to the mansion, finding him sitting in the dark, like a parent waiting to reprimand their rebellious teen for staying out the entire night. "What do you think is going to happen now, Tony? this is worse than actually telling a terrorist your fucking home address, this is worse than getting kidnapped – this is going crawling on your knees back to your fucking kidnapper and kissing them on the lips and begging them to take you back- that what this fucking was."

Rhodey got up, his shoulders shivering and his jaw locked in a glower. He walked towards Tony slowly, anger visibly boiling under his skin. "Do you want that? Do you want him to take you again?" his voice was low and repressed, trying not to be a shout and halfway failing. "Fucking tell me now, so I won't have to put in more time of my life into saving your white, idiotic ass. I can't-"

"Then take the job." Tony cut him, smiling. "You are right, you can't be here to save me all the time. I'm a risk-taking idiot with a death wish. There are more important things to do in the world."

"Tony I swear to god-" Rhodey paused, he and Tony were about the same size, in fact, Tony was taller – and smug about it to no end – but at the moment Rhodey was towering over him, almost. "You have… If it's… if it's Stockholm syndrome, if you feel like… like that for him…"

Tony smiled at him cryptically. "Do you trust me?" When Rhodey just stared at him, his face fell, and instead of Rhodey he looked at some random spot behind him, "Please, honey-bear, do you?"

Rhodey took his hand, squeezing it to ground him, and Tony's eyes found his again. "I love you, but you are making this so hard." He whispered. "It's getting too damn hard, Tones."

Tony's face lifted slowly. "That's what she said." He smirked at him, and they both barked in laughter for a moment.

"Fine. Fine." Rhodey sighed. "Just… you know I'm here for you, even if I'm far, I am here."

"That's so cheesy." Tony smiled as he replied, exchanging a reassured glance with his best friend, who smiled softly, with the same glint of sadness and resignation his eyes adopted for the past few months.

They Marathon–nitpicked Star Trek for the rest of the night, and it felt almost like the old days.

The next day, Rhodey took the job.

Three weeks later, he came back from Budapest with James Buchanan Barnes in tow.

And now Tony had Captain America's best friend's futuristic metal arm in his hands, and had no idea what to do with it.

First thing he did was put a requisition order for one of the prosthesis departments at SI. He made sure Barnes would get the lightest, most balanced and of course, technically advanced new arm in production, one that Barnes was able to put on or take off at his convenience. It was in complete contrast to this lump of metal, which weighted a ton and had no flexibility as far as he has seen. It was still fascinating, of course. And one thing Tony didn't lose was his curiosity, so… he kept it.  He had no ideas about what to do with it, and the labs at the mansion were still nowhere near as advanced as those he built in the tower.

That was why he went there, going against the warning Rhodey gave him just before leaving the country again, his voice remorseful in the same way as it always been lately, only now guilt ridden as well. Tony knew something happened when he went to deliver Barnes' new prosthetic arm and check on the recovering brainwashed Hydra assassin, but Rhodey refused to tell him what it was.

Which meant it had something to do with Steve.

Tony might have suffered brain injury, but he did not suddenly become a complete idiot.

Although, seeing him now walking through the tower like he had nothing to worry about, Rhodey would have rolled his eyes and told him the exact opposite. He was the most idiotic person he had ever met, probably.

"Sir," Jarvis voice paused for a moment, waiting for the lightheaded man to tune back into reality "There seems to be a malfunction with the main entrance's doors."

Tony brought his hand to his head, messaging his temple. He could guess what kind of malfunction it was. "Did you…"

"I have alerted the police, based on their case priorities, traffic and their initial disbelief in my report, I predict it will take up to twenty minutes for them to get here." Another pause, "Sir, the panic room-"

"No." Tony answered, walking towards the elevator. Its door opened immediately. "No. I am going to the workshop. It's ok."

Jarvis didn't answer him, Tony knew it was because he was being such an idiot that even a computer could tell, and maybe even be a bit mad about it, it made him both proud and annoyed that his creations could judge him like this, like the rest of the world did.

He knew he was being an idiot, he knew the best thing to do was to go hide and cower in the panic room and not leave it until the police or one of the Avengers got there but he chose not to, and he knew what he was doing.

He watched the small screen with the rapidly changing numbers, indicating the quick descent through the floor of the tower until he finally arrived at the workshop. It took less than a minute, but felt way longer than that as the anxiety rose in him, enforced by the enclosed, small space. Tony blinked when Jarvis finally proclaimed his arrival at the workshop, reminded himself that it was not the same, not the same place, not the same room, and not the same situation. He wasn't sick and weak and defenseless, not anymore, never.

And yet, exiting the elevator Tony found himself breathing a little harder, pressing his hand against is chest just to make sure his heart was still beating. He took his inhaler- Breathing device out of his pocket and took a long whiff, shutting his eyes as Jarvis turned on the lights to reveal the ransacked room.

"Sir?" Jarvis' voice rung in his ears but had no follow-up, just waiting for him to ground himself and answer again. The AI was prohibited from calling Rhodey or Pepper unless the situation absolutely required it, a panic attack happened too often to warrant it, and Tony made sure to make that clear after too many accidents over the last few weeks.

"I'm… fine." He breathed out weakly, looking around him. The workshop was in complete disarray, and Tony found himself wincing over the broken parts of prototypes he would never get to finish building. He put down the metal prosthetic on his desk, and it sat there – a grotesque sculpture that should never have been attached to a living human body at all. "Start running diagnostics, anything that can impact Barnes health needs to be sent to the foundation, you know the drill."

"Yes sir…" Jarvis sounded dissatisfied with his orders, "If I may, your body seems to still be under distress-"

"Mute." Tony whispered, raising a hand to massage his temple as the AI's words cut off. "Sorry, bud… just… just do what I told you to do, okay? Direct all resources there."

He could hear the steps, down the emergency stairs on the other side of the floor, slow, assertive and sure. The steps of a person who knew the place well, and had used the same route before.

He didn't so much as turn to face Steve as he knocked down the doors effortlessly and entered the workshop, though his breathing did turn heavier again, and his chest seemed to constrict tightly around his heart and lungs.

He took out his breathing device with a steady hand, it was within his grasp, under his own control, Steve couldn't take it from him anymore.

He was fine.

He put it back without breathing from it again, and turned.

Steve was wearing his Captain America outfit, well, _a_ Captain America outfit. It wasn't Tony's design, or Shield's, for that matter. It was dark, desaturated colors and tough material, paired with a re-colored shield. Instead of being inspiring and patriotic, it now seemed nationalistic and menacing. The colors were of an unpleasant palette, designed to cause uneasiness in those who laid eyes on it.

Or maybe that was simply what Steve's visage caused Tony to feel now.

Steve's eyes skimmed over his entire body. Blue, cold, full of disapproval. "You look well," was the comment he finally decided on making, his hand moving to rub his chin in consideration, his tone was the polite yet judging one he often used in the past to chastise him when they fought. "The goatee is back, I see..." Tony's hand flew to his own chin, as if afraid to find it turned smooth again before he reminded himself again just where he was. Steve was not done.

"I liked how you looked without it, you will have to start shaving again." He said softly, and grimaced, "and exercise, you put on some weight, Tony."

A shiver went through him, an urge to answer as sardonically as he was capable of boiling in the pit of his stomach as a stronger urge to lower his head and take the verbal abuse quietly took over instead. He let Steve get closer, trying to ignore the increased trembling and remind himself where he was and why. He wasn't defenseless, he didn't have to suffer through this, not again.

"It was an interesting time since they separated us…" Steve said, "locked me up… had you make that ridiculous announcement to the press." Tony bit his lip, the words simply did not come to him so he could retaliate. "I almost felt offended until I remembered that what you show the press is not the _real_ you. They don't know who you truly are, what you truly want."

"But you do." Finally, his voice rasped dryly as he opened his eyes and looked straight at Steve. The uneasiness in his gut burned. Steve looked at him in surprise, as if not accustomed to get replies from Tony. then he smiled and his face lightened up the way it would have months ago, as they joked with each other or had some rare, cute conversation about their lives. For a moment, the monster turned back into the Steve Rogers he knew.

Tony felt like he was going to throw up. He kept still, only removing his eyes from the face of his ex-teammate.

Steve took a step forward. "Yes, Tony. I am… I'm so happy you finally understand." He beamed, "We had a bit of a rough time, but we will do better, the avengers are gone, Bucky is back… everything is going to be much better when it's just the three of us, we don't need anyone else-"

Tony stood silently and listened as Steve kept rambling on. It was a scary thing, hearing the plans Steve had and knowing how horribly twisted the execution of them will be. He wanted to take Barnes too, probably wished to make him heal the same way he tried to make Tony 'heal', slowly killing him in the process.

And with Barnes… the lackluster brand of brainwashing Steve dabbled in could possibly work, too.

"I was a little worried when I heard that it was Rhodes who found Bucky." Steve said then, and Tony startled, brought back into reality by the mention of his best friend's name. "He is very confrontational, not really a good trait for someone in high ranks. I should know." He chuckled, "I mean, I guess I get it. He is over-protective of you because he was liaison to Stark industries for so long, and he needs you to maintain the armor he stole from you. Anyone would get mad if you called them out on this kind of shit."

Tony fought away the cracks in his composure, tried to keep the urge to fight for Rhodey's honor tucked in and controlled. He had to stay calm.

"Barnes was lucky it was Rhodey who found him." He replied, his voice gaining volume and stability as he turned his back to Steve, keeping only an eye on the super soldier, "Anyone else, and he would have been detained…" slowly stepping away from the desk, Tony made his way to one of the cabinets on the opposite wall, attempting pointlessly to ignore the sound of Steve's steps right behind him, keeping the exact same distance between the two of them.

"Not if I found him," Steve said, and Tony snorted a distressed laughter. Steve didn't seem to notice, "That's what the facility was for, Tony. to have him be comfortable and safe while we-"

"The facility was a mistake, Steve. It was… inhumane and-" Tony quietened down when Steve narrowed the gap between them by just one small step, he couldn't see him, but Steve's glare was near physically painful, burning holes into his back while at the same time managing to make everything around seem colder.

When Steve talked again, his voice was soft and deceivingly sweet. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Tony… it was the best you could do in such a short time. It wasn't perfect, but it damn well served the purpose we set for it."

Tony shuddered, the way Steve referred to everything he did as if Tony had been at any point an accomplice to the depravity was astonishing, he was sure some psychoanalyst would have paid to have just a few moments of the conversation to listen to and dissect.

"Too bad our ex-team demolished it. We don't really have time to build another one. Do we?" Tony turned halfway, finding Steve looking at him, hopeful like a Labrador dog who was promised a treat, a small smile plastered across his lips, when Tony didn't answer the Labrador smile turned into a vicious, predatory glower. He took another step forward, Tony instinctively stepped back, his flank knocking several wall-mounted screwdrivers from their mounts and onto the floor. "Not answering is as bad as lying, Tony. I don't like it when you lie."

Tony squirmed against the wall. His composure shattered and his efforts at reminding to himself, again and again just where he was, and what he could do, was barely working to keep his terror controlled. The small padded room he nearly died in was closing in on him as Steve narrowed the distance between them, more and more, suffocating him with his mere presence.

"Well, I don't like being kidnapped and brutalized repeatedly, so I think we might not be the best match." He said, more like rasped quietly, with not nearly as much bite in his tone as he was capable of, and yet somehow his words managed to get a deep hiss from the bottom of Steve's throat as his hand reached and seized Tony's collar, pushing him further against the wall.

Tony yelped, his hands shooting to grasp at Steve's sleeve immediately. At this point, it was becoming even harder to ground himself, he was regretting having muted Jarvis, his voice could probably help with that, at least somewhat… he closed his eyes as Steve's other hands traveled along his waist, slowly sneaking under his shirt.

"I actually hoped you would have come to your senses by now, the entire world is telling you what they saw in the video you leaked, and it wasn't rape. but you, you convinced yourself, didn't you?"

"I am not the one imagining things that are not… there…" Steve grip turned tighter, and breathing was turning impossible. "I… am not the one…" Tony left Steve's arm as it tightened against his neck, instead pushing it against Steve's broad chest. He gasped and closed his eyes.

"You took Bucky's arm." Steve said, and rage burned in his voice. "you wanted revenge, or you were jealous of him because you know how much he will always matter to me, so you did that. I tried, Tony, staying optimistic, believing that you are not that petty and we can just start over. But here you go, saying the same old bullshit. I thought we were already past that phase…"

Steve's hand traveled further down, found the hem of his underwear and danced over it. Tony turned rigid at once when he felt it. which angered the super soldier enough the shake him by his grasp of Tony's collar, causing Tony's back to clash against the wall. " _Relax_ , Tony. you already know that I don't like it this way." He leaned in, crushing Tony against the wall and sliding his hand further down, his grip on his collar loosened a bit as his strength rerouted to his torso and hips, grinding and pushing Tony against the wall.

Tony froze at the invasive touches, he kept his eyes open as Steve leaned in to nuzzle his neck, staring at the ceiling. How long was it since Jarvis told him it'd be twenty minutes until the police arrived? He counted in his mind, letting himself escape from the scenario as the touches became more direct in their direction and intention.

Thirty seconds left on his count when Steve kissed his lips, pushing hard for more. Twenty-five when his hands cupped and fondled the underside of Tony's thighs as his clothes were shed and his body lifted for easier access, ten seconds as his own hand, spread flat against Steve's chest and powerless to push him away was turning warm, and finally – five seconds as a beam of light erupted from that same hand, throwing Steve across the room, where he crashed against a glass screen and shattered it.

Tony fell to the floor as Steve was flung away. His so-called hand, what was left of it was a metallic skeletal formation, wires and some singed and torn patches of synthetic skin that extended all the way above his elbow, and at the middle of his palm was a small, smaller than any he'd created before, arc reactor. Powering the entire thing.

"Jarvis," He breathed, tearing away more of the singed flesh and throwing it aside, uncovering more of the light metal. "Make a note to find a more… durable solution for the skin."

"Yes, Sir. The arm's repulsors seem to function perfectly well and on cue, power levels are raising quickly and will soon be at ninety-five percent."

"Awesome." Tony got up slowly, his breath heavy and mind beginning to cloud. He took his oxygen-emitter out of his dash pocket and took a few moments to just breath, ignoring and pained grunts the super-soldier sprawled on the floor, covered with small glass shards was making. He rearranged his clothes, taking special care at smoothing any crumple that could hint at the rough treatment they suffered moments before.

"Sir, the police forces outside – they were dismissed by general Ross. His tone may indicate that he is displeased. He demands access to the tower immediately."

Tony groaned at the news, that was not who he was hoping to have to deal with on the subject. "Keep him on ice for me for a few moments, tell me if he becomes too aggressive."

"Yes Sir."

One final deep breath before Steve was starting to recover, Tony matched his stare as he raised his head to look at him, pain and betrayal in his eyes.

"What… what have you done to yourself?" he hissed, and Tony burst into laughter, the metallic hand extending with a soft creaking sound to aim at Steve again.

"What have I done?!" He whispered mid laughter, his breath whistling with effort. "I… I done nothing. Steve. There was nothing I _could_ do about getting my lame, crushed and decaying limb cut off. My other hand – they saved it, but I can barely use it anymore because it trembles so much all the time, so maybe they should have cut it off too." His words broke up at the end, "This… this is what you did to me. Two months with you and I've been ruined in every aspect imaginable. This… this arm, you'll be happy to know that I think about you every time I have to tinker with it to make it work better, and it's not even the worst thing you have done to me, Steve. Can you even imagine it?"

The long strain of words left him nearly breathless, but there was no more time to breathe. Steve was getting up.

"Your arm was hurt when you crushed, though." He said softly, as if talking to a child, "how can you blame this on me, Tony? this is… it's horrible."

Tony didn't hesitate, "They fixed it at the hospital. It was already healing, and then you kidnapped me and broke it again and again and never gave it the proper treatment or enough time to heal."

Steve stood still, wearily staring at him. "You know I didn't want to hurt you, Tony…" he said, taking a step forward, "this is not what I wanted…"

The hand shot a beam again, hitting Steve's abdomen and sending him crushing into the same broken-glass covered surface as before. Steve yelled, his shout a mix of animalistic rage and pain.

"I need you to understand… Steve, you've killed me." He said as he stepped forward, "Not just in the literal sense of the word, although I was moments away from that becoming a reality. No. You left me with a damaged brain, a weaker heart, hands that cannot work, cannot pilot my suits, cannot do anything. And all of those things are not even close to the worst of what you've done to me." He was standing just above Steve now, his hand aimed squarely at his chest. "You said you loved me, but everything you have done… from the moment we have even met points to the contrary." His voice trembled, "the first time you killed me, at the crash site… I stayed alive, and I didn't know why. But now I think it was so I could expose you for the monster you are. The second time… it was so I could stop you from hurting anyone ever again."

"I didn't take Barnes' monstrosity of a prosthesis away because I wanted revenge against you, you self-absorbed piece of shit… I did it because he hated it and wanted it replaced. But this? This right now? This is revenge. See how they like you when you are no longer a super soldier, Captain."

Tony locked his gaze with Steve's enraged glare as he shot him a third time, he listened to Steve scream and did not tear apart the eye contact even as General Ross and several of his goons burst through his doors to witness what was happening. When they tried getting closer to stop him, three iron man suits immediately stepped in front of them and blocked the way.

Ignoring the general's shouts, Tony watched as the beam's light died out, under it, Steve lay unconscious and unmoving, finally.

"Stark! What do you think you're doing?!" Tony did not move his eyes to look at Ross.

"he came in here unauthorized and attacked me, I merely defended myself." He said under his breath, "And made sure he would never do this to anyone else." He turned to look at Ross, watched as the goons picked up the body, Still the one of the super soldier, but not for much longer.

Ross was red in the face with rage, stepping around the empty suits, whom at a gesture from Tony's hand, allowed it. "You! You have attacked a national operative, this is beyond you and your lover's quarrel with the captain, Stark! This is about national security!"

Tony sighed quietly, "General… he trespassed and attacked me. I defended myself. This is all there is to it. Now… You probably should hurry and take him to a hospital, the Vita radiation frequency imbued into my repulsors is probably starting to destabilize the serum as we speak. And it's not a pleasant experience, I am sure."

Ross growled at him but gestured at his goons to carry Steve out of there. "You will not get away with this, Stark. This is much bigger than your little grudge."

Tony watched them leaving. Then, he collapsed, his trembling legs no longer strong enough to carry him. The floor was peppered with bits of broken glass, and the air smelling scorched and slightly like Steve.

"Rhodey is going to kill me…" he half-chuckled, half-whimpered, "I did it… Jarvis, I… I did it."

Jarvis took a moment longer before he replied. "Yes, sir." Then, he piloted one of the suits he controlled to stop Ross earlier and had it softly pick Tony up in its metallic arms. "You are safe now."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, it's the last chapter. I might add an epilogue tho. do you think that's needed?


End file.
